


Red

by Johnlocked_in_221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A lot angstier than I thought, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, But there will be fluff, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Fluff, Growing Up, He is alive I promise, Honeymoon, Italy, John Loves Sherlock, Kidlock, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Presumed Dead, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock is a bit sad, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenlock, There is a happy ending!, Thread of Destiny, Virgin Sherlock, but not dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 31,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlocked_in_221B/pseuds/Johnlocked_in_221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Each soul is connect by a single red thread that never breaks and would cause extreme heartache to the soul’s whose mates died. The thread wearers were connected to the one soul that they would always belong to, or fit perfectly with. Many swore to never love again after their mate had died and threads slowly disappeared  The threads weren’t physical, you couldn’t touch them but they were seen and felt by the heart. When a child is born, and the red thread is clearly visible, it is a time for celebration because the threads mostly develop at a later age. Everyone could see their threads.</p>
<p> Everyone, but Sherlock Holmes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Threadless

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Eventual Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), Unbeta'd, I'm not British, Bullying Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> More notes at the end of Chapter.

In this world, everyone has someone. Some are fortunate to find their other half in their lifetime. Others are not. There are some poor, unfortunate souls that never become complete. They will never know what it is like to be loved wholly or cherished for their odd quirks and unique personalities.

 

Each soul is connect by a single red thread that never breaks and would cause extreme heartache to the soul’s whose mates died. The thread wearers were connected to the one soul that they would always belong to, or fit perfectly with. Many swore to never love again after their mate had died and threads slowly disappeared  The threads weren’t physical, you couldn’t touch them but they were seen and felt by the heart. When a child is born, and the red thread is clearly visible, it is a time for celebration because the threads mostly develop at a later age. Everyone could see their threads.

 

Everyone, but Sherlock Holmes.

 

When Sherlock was at the delicate age of six, his parents sat him down and told him about soul bounding, and the vital red threads. When the talk was over Sherlock asked a single condemning question, “Why can’t I see mine?” At the time the question was just laughed off, but he would later struggle with the same question years later during a time when all of his other classmates had threads and he did not.

 

His parents quickly explained that he was a _‘late bloomer’_ and needed _‘to grow some more’_ before his thread decided _‘to make itself known’_. Sherlock accepted the explanation easily enough. After all, he could see the logic behind their statements (Although he hated the way they spoke to him. As if he couldn’t understand them unless they spoke in this irritating high pitch coddling voice).

 

When Sherlock grew to the age of thirteen there still was no red string present in his life. Of course everyone had noticed. His classmates would come up with ‘clever’ names to call him. _Soulless, Heartless,_ or his ‘favorite’ _Threadless_. If he were completely honest, he would admit that the last one hurt the most. It was just another reminder that he was different.

 

Sherlock began shutting himself down. He hated how vulnerable their insults made him so he let go of the loving little boy, that was full of hope, and became the cold hearted detective we know today. He would say scathing, bitter comments against his cruel classmates but his comments were always the truth. He never lied about what he saw. He would uncover affairs, blatant lies, and dark secrets. It was no wonder that the damaging words hurled Sherlock’s way grew and became an amusing pastime for the cruel bullies. It became a game of, “Let’s see who could belittle the freak the most today!”

  
  


University wasn’t much better. When Sherlock sat down for his first lecture, an obnoxious man sat close by spouting off his latest sexual escapades. Sherlock took one look at the offending man and knew his life’s story. Sherlock quickly stands and spouts off, “Wrong! You are clearly lying! You have touched your noise nine times throughout your speech which indicates falsehood. There is also the fact that there is a white stain near the button of your trousers. I wonder what that could be!” He says sarcastically and filled with scorn. “You haven’t met your soulmate and I know that the only woman, or nurturing person, currently present in your life is your mother. I know that because your clothes have been ironed, tailored and washed, not by you, by a professional. It is possible that you go and get them professionally done, but there is a sentimental touch to each stitch. Ergo, mother. The girlfriend is an easy observation to make due to the fact that you have no one to seek from someone else. Obvious!”After Sherlock sits back down, the lecture hall explodes with laughter and jeers. Sebastian stands quickly and exits the room, but not before he can step up to Sherlock and menacingly whisper, “You will pay for this.”

 

Sebastian was never one to let things go. He had hated Sherlock from the beginning of their time at Uni.   He had been able to avoid repercussions until a cold morning in January which resulted in a blackened eye, bruised ribs, and twisted right ankle after Sherlock had ‘forgotten his place’. The taunting seemed to increase after Sebastian started spouting off lies about Sherlock’s intended. “Sherlock has met his bonded mate and they were so disgusted by his appearance they had found a better acquaintance.” or, “The reason Sherlock is threadless is because he never had a mate to begin with! When he was born, it was decided that he would never have a mate because he is too undeserving.” Sherlock could pretend that their taunts didn’t mean anything but he wondered himself if their words had some truths to them.

 

The only solace he achieved was when he was able to go into his rooms or work in the labs in the Science department the school provided. Sherlock wasn’t able to always avoid Sebastian and more often than not, he would return to his room with bruises he hadn’t originally left with. When he had finally graduated, he developed a cold mask of indifference and a hardened heart.

 

At the age of twenty-three, he was still without a soul mate, he was introduced to cocaine. He, at first, told himself that he was using it to ‘quieten his racing mind’. If he would look within himself he would discover that he was only lying to himself. There were the nights when being so alone left him feeling so hollow inside. There were nights when he truly hated himself more than anything or anyone. Those nights he would tighten the tourniquet, inject the needle into his arm, and push the plunger until he could finally get rid of the emptiness he felt. This routine would continue for three months until Mycroft stepped in, after Sherlock overdosed, one September night.

 

In one fleeting moment, Sherlock could have sworn he had seen a crimson, fiery flash of color amongst the blurred images just before he became unconscious.


	2. 3,509 Miles Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John Watson had always known he was intended to have a soul mate. He was one of the few very fortunate children that had their red threads at an early age. Everyone in his family knew that he was a special child. Unlike most children, John’s thread was a crimson, fiery red that burned intently and endlessly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Eventual Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), Unbeta'd, I'm not British, Bullying Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

John Watson had always known he was intended to have a soul mate. He was one of the few very fortunate children that had their red threads at an early age. Everyone in his family knew that he was a special child. Unlike most children, John’s thread was a crimson, fiery red that burned intently and endlessly.

 

When John was five, like many young little boys, curiously questioned the threads existence. “Why is it there? What is if for? Can I get tangled up in it if I trip?” His parents answered each question with a laugh and loving smile. His mother looked into his father’s eyes and placed her hand on top of his. John noticed that the red thread connected them together. “The threads may tangle, they can knot, and they can twist, but they never break. With time.” His mother continued “When your mate dies, the thread disappears but the love never leaves. You will always be connected to that person.”

 

John nodded his head seriously, as if he understood every small detail and would commit it to memory. Although he was only five, he somehow knew that he would meet his love one day.

 

John was always a courageous little boy and at the age of eight he decided to “Go on an adventure!” He packed a small bag with some clothes, crisps, biscuits, and juice to follow his red thread. He told his mother and father of his plans and they bit back smiles and told him that they would come with him to ‘help him search’. They followed the thread for a few blocks until John got tired, and a bit discouraged, and reluctantly agreed to head home with a heavy heart.

 

When they reached home, John broke out into tears. His mother and father quickly enveloped him in a tight embrace and asked him what was wrong. “I’ll never find him!” John whimpered, “I’ll never get to meet him, or love him, or see him! I’ll be alone forever!” At that moment, John sobs even harder.

 

“Honey! You’ll find...him someday! You’re young now, give it time!” John blinks up at his mother’s words and whispers, “You promise?”

 

“I promise. Now, dry those tears and let’s see a smile!” John peers up at her and grins. As he wipes his tears, he throws his arms around her waist and buries his face in her stomach, “Thank you mummy.” His mother places a hand on top of his head and pets his hair back, “You’re welcome Johnny. I have a question for you though. How do you know that your soul mate will be a boy?” John looks up at her, giggles, and says, “That’s easy! I can feel it in my heart!” With that, he runs to retrieve his little toy soldier that will soon occupy his time with strategic battles and rescued civilians.

* * *

 

 

Years had gone by and he is now eighteen. He has still not found his love, so he decides to become a soldier in order to pay for university and the obvious other reasons (God, Queen and Country). He has his things packed and says a goodbye to his crying mother and proud father. Harry is out somewhere, most likely sloshed, at a party or a pub, so a ‘touching goodbye’ would have to wait. He gathers his things and walks into the airport terminal, looks back on more time, takes everything in for a moment or two, turns, and then proceeds to board his plane.

* * *

 

_War is hell_. Whomever had said that was definitely correct. The hot Afghan sun blisters his skin. The cold reality that you could die any minute hangs like a dark, threatening shroud over the troop’s heads.  The bullets whirling past his head, the smoke from detonated explosives, and the adrenaline rush that comes from saving another person all add up together to make him feel alive. He has never felt so alive. He thrives under stressful situations, and he finally feels like he is making a difference. That is, at age 28, until he gets shot.

 

Lance Corporal James Mortimer of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers was lying on the scorching desert sands, bleeding out from a wound to his abdomen. John rushed over to the dying soldier and applied pressure to the wound and began digging out his supplies in order to patch him up. As John began applying the last stitch to the soldier’s now marred skin, a shot rings out, and a kneeling army doctor falls forward and clutches his injured shoulder.

 

For a moment, all John can do is grit his teeth at the searing, white hot pain that seems to take over every functioning part of his brain and body. _‘God, please let me live.’_ Seems to be the recurring thought for John as he lay, just like the soldier previously, bleeding out. Just before he loses consciousness, his red thread flickers. Once...twice…..and then fades away as if it had never been present. For the first time in twelve years, John’s eyes well up and the tears slip past tightly shut lids as he silently mourns his loss. He’s crying silently…...when one cries silently it's because they just can't stop.

 

John can hear his approaching fellow troops, but he couldn’t possibly care at this point. John no longer has his life preserver. His thread was like a promise, no matter what hell he had to go through, no matter what pain or suffering or injury he obtained while deployed, he had been promised happiness. Now, he no longer has anything. His hope has been crushed and he couldn’t care at this moment if he were to live or die. _‘Please.... Just let me die....’_ He would silently beg until he finally subcomes to the darkness with grief hanging heavily around his heart.

 

Unbeknownst to John 3,509 miles away, a twenty-three year old recovering addict lay held up in a hospital bed clutching his left shoulder and crying out from an unknown searing pain. The red thread would briefly make an appearance but would be blamed upon a drug induced haze. Its light quickly extinguishes and when later questioned about his outburst, he would claim someone had shot him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten points to anyone who gets the Doctor Who reference! :D Also, Little John! I wanted to make him adorable. I hope I succeeded. :) This is John's story! Please bear with me because the next few chapters will be kind of slow. As always, thank you for commenting, and giving me kudos, those seriously make my day!


	3. Afghanistan or Iraq?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John finally meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Eventual Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), Unbeta'd, I'm not British, Bullying Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> More notes at the end of Chapter.

John, to his displeasure, would be saved from the the cruel desert. He would go through many months of delirium due to infection and pain medication. When he was finally released, a year later, he would be flown back to London broken and depressed. He would be issued a psychiatrist, Ella, who would encourage him to write about his life, but who would want to read that? ' _Nothing ever happens to me.'_

His army pension wouldn't be enough for him to rent a nice flat so, he made do. He lived in a broken down, plain flat in one of the worst parts of London. He would go on dates but he would never call them back. He would date the person, fellow people who didn't have a soul partner, until she or he began talking about love and would quickly cut all ties from them. He no longer believed in love, so what was the point?

If he didn't wake up screaming from the smell of smoke or the sight of shrapnel imbedding into skin, he was miserable from his shaking hands that forbade him from ever working with his hands professionally. He had a job at the local A&E but, due to his hands, he could no longer work as a surgeon so he now took on the role of setting broken bones and writing prescriptions for flu medication.

John would return home after each day and methodically clean his gun. He had done this countless times before in the army, but each day when he would withdraw it from its hiding place, it had become a hardship to place it back. He would lie away at night, staring up at the ceiling, wondering why he continued with the charade. He lived, but his world was gray, dull, and colorless. He hated it. By now, John had lived a miserable existence of 34 years.

He awoke one morning to a cheery bright sky, which only served to dampen his mood further. In a last attempt to find a semblance of peace, he took a slow paced walk to the park. While there, he had met an old friend that had studied with him at St. Barts. They began reminiscing about old memories. When questioned about his life, John had replied that he had been looking for a flatshare that would be affordable but "Who would want me for a flatmate?" Mike took one look at the shell of a man and laughed. "You are the second person who has said that to me today."

"Who was the first?"

* * *

 

Sherlock was interrupted during a crucial moment during his experiment by the opening of a door. He glanced up momentarily, eyed the two men standing at the entrance, and deduced the stranger's past. ' _Medical man, height 5' 6", army, psychosomatic limp due to injured shoulder. Dull.'_ "Mike, may I borrow your phone? There's no service on mine." Sherlock doesn't expect to be granted access, and sure enough, Mike makes a show of checking his pockets before declining with a lame excess of not having it on him. Though, he is surprised when the unimposing stranger steps forward and offers his own. Sherlock takes the device and quickly sends out a text and hands it back to him but not before he can deduce all the secrets the object holds.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Sorry?"

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

" Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you—" Before John can finish asking his question, a mousy looking women enters in with coffee and a burning face as she approaches the mysterious man. The man in question dismisses the poor girl and she leaves with a soft sigh.

John, oddly enough, gets his wish granted as the man suggests viewing a flat together. From there John's doubt quickly turns into amazement as the odd man before him dissects his past and reads him like an open book. "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name." Before the man leaves he enters the room again and exclaims, "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street. Afternoon." He winks and then he is gone.

John looks at Mike in amazement and Mike only chuckles and says, "Yeah. He's always like that. The winking thing is new though. He doesn't usually do that." With one last smile, Mike leads a dazed John back outside to the front of the building. As they go their separate ways, John gets into a cab and stares blankly out the window. He feels his face twitch into a small smile as he nears his dismal flat. He is looking forward to the new possibilities that come with living with such a strange man.

' _Sherlock.'_

* * *

 

Of course the very next day, when they meet up again, Sherlock takes John out to a crime scene. John is smitten. He has actually found an interesting, threadless man who likes danger as much as he does! John tries to subtly convey that, "Hey, we're both without soul bonds! You're gorgeous, intelligent and dangerous! I think we could possibly have a chance at attempting a relationship."

There was nothing subtle about it. Sherlock caught on in moments and quickly snuffed out any hopes John had. "John, erm... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I know you once had a soul bound, I have never had one and don't intend to participate in mindless, tawdry affairs. Although I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any…" John laughed off the rejection easily enough. He hadn't expected to go anywhere with his suggestion, but he thought he might try. He made a vain attempt of declining his intentions with a " _I'm not gay!"_ and proceeded to use the excuse for the remainder of the night.

The case ends with a bullet piercing through glass then embedding into a decaying body, a whispered name, a dead cabbie, and giggles behind yellow police tape. They had a moment where both men looked at the other and all laughter had ceased. Sherlock cleared his throat and looked away. John felt his face heat up with the realization that he had began leaning forward. His entire body went rigid and the cold truth seeped into him when he realized that he was thoroughly enamored by this captivating man. ' _I am well and truly buggered.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I used a LOT of "Study is Pink" references, so, be mindful of that. I manipulated the text in order to fix the story line. I hope you like them so far! Oh, and next chapter THERE WILL BE ANGST! Sherlock cries and may seem about OOC but I will explain what that is about at the end notes at the next one. This one will have a bunch of chapters. I believe even more than my last one had. Oh, and before I forget, Updates will be Mondays and Fridays!


	4. A Time for Us.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troubles ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Eventual Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), Unbeta'd, I'm not British, Bullying Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> More notes at the end of Chapter.

Days would turn into months, which would include many 'dark moods', slamming doors, midnight chases through the alleyways of London, and a vindictive man named Moriarty. Things had been going great until John becomes a hostage to a crazed psychopath at a pool. When John first steps out into view, and Sherlock's eyes meet his, he can see a flash of hurt and anger before Sherlock's face blanks entirely. Moriarty steps out, Sherlock slowly exhales but no other sign of relief is shown. John reveals then that he is wrapped in explosives and from then, it is a battle of wits to see who would escape alive.

This particular case ends with an explosion and a quick, reflexive move on John's part that plunges both, blogger and detective, into the icy waters of the pool. When both heads resurfaced, all that remained on the scene was blackened scorch marks and bits of debris floating in the water.

As they travel home, Moriarty's morbid threat hangs heavily on their minds. _"I'll burn the **heart** out of you!"_ Sherlock realizes that is exactly what John is. His heart. They ascend the stairs in an awkward silence that entails both have something to say but can't ( **won't** ) say it. Both parties are equally tired but the adrenaline keeps them awake. John has a feeling that if he could go to sleep, he wouldn't be able to, due to images of ' _what if's'_ haunting his dreams. Instead of heading up the stairs to his room, John goes into the kitchen to make tea. He retrieves two cups, mostly out of habit, and places them on the counter. He retrieves the kettle and tea bags from their hiding place and puts the kettle on to boil.

When the kettle slowly begins to heat, John feels his legs give out and slowly slides down the counter onto the kitchen floor. There, he clutches his knees to his chest and places his head on his knees. _'I could have died tonight. Sherlock could have died tonight…...Sherlock...'_ All other thoughts recede from his mind as he begins to imagine the world without this infuriating man. He doesn't notice the other man's presence, he doesn't hear the kettle whistle signaling it has finished boiling, and he doesn't hear the other man cutting off the stove and remove said offending kettle. What John does notice is the warm heat of a body sitting next to him on the kitchen floor. When John lifts his head he is met with cool, calculating, verdigris eyes that seem to know what he is always thinking.

Sherlock can read the terror of the evening and an overwhelming fear on John's expressive face. Sherlock slowly grabs John's hand and places it over his beating heart. John leans forward and lightly presses his lips to cupid-bowed ones.

The kiss is chaste but John's eyes flutter closed as he feels a jolt of electricity run through his veins. John pushes forward slightly, as if to deepen the kiss, but Sherlock has not moved and has remained completely rigid. John jerks away with burning cheeks and wide eyes when he sees Sherlock's shocked expression. "I-I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have done that.. Look, let's just forget this had ever happened. You can delete it. I know you don't feel that way about me. You probably haven't felt that way about anyone before." John laughs nervously before continuing, "Like I said, we can just delete this and pretend it has never happened. After all I'm not gay. I just-" John quickly stops speaking when he notices Sherlock's forlorn expression.

"Are you mocking me? Is that it? Let's play with Sherlock's feelings! He can't possibly care!" Sherlock says as he quickly stands, " He doesn't have a heart! After all he is threadless. Even his soul mate didn't want him! Sherlock doesn't have feelings! Who could possibly _want_ or _need_ Sherlock Holmes!?" Sherlock's breathing hitched at that last part and he quickly turns away from the confused army doctor. John rises to his feet as well and reaches forward, "No! That isn't it at all! Sherlock, I-." Before John can even touch him, Sherlock has moved and is quickly walking to his room. A hand comes up and wipes across an angular face and John realizes that Sherlock is crying. A door is slammed and John is left alone.

John walks over to the door and gently knocks but receives no answer. After several minutes of consistent knocking and still no reply, John trudges up to his room and slumps down onto the bed. Hours later, when the house is still and John is asleep in bed, Sherlock would venture out of his room to retrieve his violin. He would draw the bow across the strings, turn the peg slightly, and then proceeds to play.

John wakes up with a start. He isn't sure what has awoken him but that no longer matters because he hears music. It isn't the type of music Sherlock normally plays. He has heard Sherlock torture the stringed instrument, he has heard him compose pieces with such beauty that could make you cry, but he has never heard such a morose, heartbreaking piece being drawn out of the varnished violin. The high notes are quickly drowned out by low, melancholic tones that John can _feel_ and his heart sinks in his chest as each mournful sound resonates throughout the near silent flat.

When the song ends, the flat is plunged into silence once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Sherlock may seem a bit OOC but I figured that if someone had been verbally tortured consistently throughout their life, you have a right to be a little bit hurt by someone you love. Yes, I'll let that escape now, Sherlock does love John but he is a little bit confused at the moment. Give him time, he'll make it :). I have this thing for crying Sherlock (I'm a bit of a masochist). It causes my chest to go all tight and heart to hurt... That makes me sound like a weirdo O.o Anyway, I'm rambling. I hope you enjoy the story!
> 
> This is the song I imagine Sherlock playing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9n49-W3cX8g (A Time for Us)


	5. I Checked Your Pulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ms. Adler appears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Eventual Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British, Bullying, Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: QueenLadyAnne my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice!

John believes what everyone else has said. _‘I know you don’t feel that way about me. You probably haven’t felt that way about anyone before.’_ Those words in particular hurt the most. People always assume that Sherlock doesn’t have a heart or can’t possibly have any feelings due to the fact that some deity or almighty creator decided that Sherlock doesn’t deserve a soul mate.

 

Sherlock, when John had kissed him, had truly been too shocked to do anything. His school mates had often made the joke that he was a virgin. They unfortunately, no matter how idiotic or incorrect their deductions were, were correct. He didn’t understand the social etiquette involved with kissing. _‘Where am I supposed to put my hands? What is he **doing** with his mouth? What do I do with my mouth?!?’_ Where just a few that were running rampant throughout his mind. When the kiss had ended Sherlock, despite feeling overwhelmed, had enjoyed the connection he could feel with John. It was as if an electric spark shot throughout his nervous system drawing them together. Yet...John wanted him to delete it. John doesn’t care about Sherlock the way Sherlock cares about John. John is Sherlock’s weak point, his college, his partner, his friend… His best friend.

 

But John has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t really care about him. No, John **doesn’t** love Sherlock and Sherlock **can’t** love.

 

At that, Sherlock’s entire body goes rigid and his eyes turn to steel. _‘Fine!’_ Sherlock thinks, _‘Two can play this game. I’ll make John leave. I don’t need him around. I can function perfectly fine without him here!’_ Although Sherlock refuses to think of the time that was **before** John. Those times were filled with loneliness and reprimands. But Sherlock had lived that way before, and he can do so again.

 

The perfect opportunity arose when he met the Dominatrix and Femme Fatale Irene Adler. Irene was very similar to Sherlock. Aside from Moriarty, her mind had been the greatest match to his own. She was an enigma, a puzzle, that deserved, no **needed** , to be solved. Although she had been connected, like many others, with the sacred red thread, she seemed to genuinely like Sherlock. The best part about Ms. Adler’s appearance was that she made John jealous.

 

In the end, the women, was defeated by sentiment. She had been a worthy adversary and it had been fun watching John squirm but, like every case Sherlock has been assigned to, it was solved and came to an untimely end.

 

“Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You didn't actually think I was interested in you, did you? Why, because you're Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?”  Irene says with a self-satisfied smirk that is painted upon her red lips.

 

Sherlock waits for just a moment before saying, “No... because I took your pulse, and I waited. And your pupils dilated. I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me,” Sherlock remembers briefly a conversation about love that entails kisses and smiles bitterly while he retrieves her phone. “But the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive. When we first met you told that a disguise is always a self-portrait; how true of you. The combination to your safe - your measurements but this, this is far more, this is your heart,” Sherlock Inserts a letter, “And you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for,” He inserts another letter. “But you just couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage.” Another. “Thank you for the final proof.” He inserts the final letter of the code and the phone unlocks.

 

Sherlock denies Irene’s plea for protection but would later rescue her from a terrorist cell in Pakistan and then cut all ties with the mysterious woman. Mycroft tells John of Irene’s ‘death’ and John lies about her passing to spare Sherlock’s feelings. Which is ridiculous. She was a challenge, and nothing more. John had some misconception that Sherlock had feelings about the woman. Which is, again, another ridiculous statement due to the fact that Sherlock **can’t** feel.

 

* * *

 

_‘Sherlock is ignoring me.’_ The thought comes to John after the fifth flash of dark curls that quickly turn around and go in the opposite direction than originally intended. At first John had thought Sherlock had been on a case. It was common for Sherlock to disappear throughout the course of the day and then return at ungodly hours only to torture his violin, but John began to notice the lack of a sprawled out detective on the sofa, or case notes cluttering the coffee table.

 

Soon, the violin music stops as well. That is what finally clues John in.

 

If you would have told John three months earlier that he would miss mold in the kettle, eyeballs in the microwave, or the sound of his handgun going off when the flat had gone mostly silent ( and would most likely give John a heart attack at the most inconvenient times). He would have first raised a skeptical eyebrow and then proceed to laugh at that _absurd_ notion. Though, that is exactly what John is doing.  He is missing all those things, yes,  but, above that, he misses the genius detective.

 

He can try to convince himself that everything is alright, or that he hasn’t completely broken some unspoken trust Sherlock has placed in him, but the lies he tells himself all come to a screeching halt one night, when John's eyes flash open and he rises quickly out of bed screaming due to nightmares of gangly, pale limbs that are crumbled, crushed that mingle with the odd sensation of falling.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock wasn’t ignoring John. No, he absolutely was **not** ignoring John (No matter what Mycroft says). Sherlock just happened to remember he had to do something in a totally different room that John was in. Although, when Sherlock was held up in his room **not** ignoring John, he would have to admit, if only to himself, that John could possibly get that idea due to Sherlock’s lack of appearances. Sherlock knew John’s nightmares are back. The walls were terribly thin and John’s room was directly above his. It wasn’t a hard thing to deduce, but Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment.

 

He has been having a hard time believing John could be so cruel. He had expected as much from Sally or Anderson, but never John. He had been told throughout his life that he never deserved love, or a mate. He had finally thought he had found someone who he could love despite them not being his soul mate.

 

* * *

 

 

John is tired of living as if he is balanced upon a scale. Sometimes it's as if Sherlock absolutely loathes his existence. At those moments the scale topples over and John hangs precariously on the edge. Then Sherlock would say something sentimental like, "I don't have friends. I've just got one." Of course the scale would then tip in John's favor. He, then, would feel as his portion of the scale surpasses the other in soaring heights. He could touch the stars.

 

But John wanted the to clear up any uncharted waters. He was tired of analyzing every word Sherlock said for some unspoken meaning. He was determined to put everything out on the table and either try to move on or see where this could take them. This is it.

 

"Sherlock, we need to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Sherlock still seems a bit OOC but I am working to get him away from that. I have a reason for it, but it will take a few chapters to get to that (maybe less). Yes, I did insert a quote from 'The Hounds of Baskerville'. Am I sorry? Nope :)! I thought that was adorable.
> 
> Anyway, Next couple of chapters: More angst. If you have been keeping up with the progression of cases, then you will notice what will be next. This story will not be season three compatible. I don't like Mary. At ALL and I refuse to add her in here. She will only be mentioned in passing or if mentioned, as a way to get over what is about to happen. I will make references to some things that have happened in season three, but nothing more. Thank you to all my readers and followers! I hope you like the story so far!


	6. Disparitites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British, Bullying, Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: QueenLadyAnne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice!

"Sherlock, we need to talk."

How is it that five little words could make him feel as if his entire world were crashing to the ground and then proceed to freeze over, coating everything in sheets of ice? That shouldn't be possible, but Sherlock feels as the room had suddenly dropped twenty degrees and he involuntarily shivers. ' _So, this is it then.'_ Sherlock stands from where he lay sprawled out across the sofa, to stand in front of John. "I agree. We should settle this estrangement between us."

John blinks, taken aback by Sherlock's willingness to talk about _feelings_ , before he draws in a breath to begin. "Sherlock, I realize-" but before John can finish, Sherlock holds up a hand as if to silence him. "Before you can spout off any idiotic notions, I will state this as frank as I can. These past few months now, I have become aware of a problematic disparity in the way we feel about one another."

John's shoulders slump, "Oh. You've noticed."

"Yes, and I believe that I should mention now, that I know about your feelings for me, and what they entell. I may not currently understand what I have done to deserve these feelings, but with time, I am sure that the emotion will become clear. As you have previously stated, I have not felt that way about anyone _before._ Although I do not feel the same way as you do, I believe I will be able to ignore them in the future. "

Throughout Sherlock's little speech John's heart steadily sinks to the pit of his stomach. Along with the feeling of despair, comes the all consuming sense of rage. "Ignore them. Ignore them as if they don't matter?! That's _brilliant_ Sherlock! Why didn't I think of that before!?" John laughs humorlessly and bitterly to himself, "And while I'm at it, I'll just hide away in my 'mind palace' and pretend that nobody matters either! Oh wait, you already do that don't you? I don't want to steal your thunder. After all, the _Threadless_ genius needs an audience. I wouldn't want to steal any members from your fan club."

Said genius' facial expression briefly flashes to some unknown expression before angular features harden, cool eyes narrow, and lips take on an angry glower. "I don't know why you should feel so betrayed. You've made your feelings apparent. You obviously don't believe that I could possibly feel anything for anyone. I can only assume that you wish to flaunt your opinion of me further. Fine! Let's laugh at the **threadless** , heartless man! Let's all prod, and point fingers at the _machine_. Look how pathetic he is! The only man he has ever "loved" believes him to be an indifferent, uncaring, bastard!" When Sherlock finishes his ranting, he goes over to his violin rips it from its case before drawing the bow across the strings in a sawing motion.

Soon the screeching sounds morph into a slow heart breaking piece John had heard previously. Sherlock's demeanor had completely changed. Before the music had began, His entire form had been set rigidly and withdrawn, but now…now it's as if he is defeated. As if his entire world has collapsed. His proud frame is now drooping slightly, his head is moderately bowed, and his shoulders are slumped downwards. The proud detective stands before John, appearing crumbled and defeated.

When reflecting over the distraught man's words, John had a shocking moment of clarity. ' _Wait a moment…"_ The only **man** he has ever **loved** believes him to be an i **ndifferent, uncaring** , bastard." _But that would mean…'_ John could hit himself for being so stupid. ' _Of. bloody. COURSE!'_

"Sherlock, you do realize when I said what I had said, that I was rambling, and didn't really mean what I was saying, don't you?" Sherlock doesn't answer, doesn't turn around, yet, he has stopped playing his violin momentarily. "I was embarrassed and felt as if you didn't care about me at all. I had started spouting random things from the top of my head."

"Don't be absurd, John." Came the monotonous response. " In my profession, I know when people are lying and you are a terrible liar. Either you are lying to me, or you are withholding some of the facts." Sherlock then turns to look at John. His carefully sculpted face, in John's opinion, had never been this withdrawn or dispassionate.

John draws in a shaky breath and breathes out, "You're right. Of course you're right. You've always been able to see through me."

' _Now, it comes out.'_ Sherlock barely conceals a scowl and bites out, "Of course I'm right. Any idiot would be able to see-" Before Sherlock could finish his tirade, John has stepped forward and has closed in on the remaining space between them. A pair of shocked eyes glance down at the smiling army doctor briefly before closing completely, when thin lips meet his own.

The kiss is short lived, only lasting a moment or two, before they break apart and the loyal blogger smiles up at the confused detective. "You're an idiot. How could you possibly believe that I don't absolutely adore you" Sherlock's eyes widen and a pretty blush seeps across his sharp cheekbones. "I-John…." A firm hand comes up and is placed on the side of Sherlock's face and the tip of John's finger gently caresses his full bottom lip.

"Shh...I know. Slowly, alright?" Instead of answering, Sherlock's ivory complexion turns a lovely shade of red as the blush deepens and travels further down his neck. He nods his head obediently at John's request and awkwardly places his hands on John's shoulders. John laughs softly and lifts his head slightly, hands moving to grip the back of Sherlock's neck, before whispering against the bashful sleuth's timid lips, "Just...follow my lead."This kiss starts out slow. Sherlock has yet to figure out what to do with his hands, or lips for that matter, but John, ever reliant John, seems to know what is going through his head and gently moves his lips against Sherlock's shy ones.

Sherlock had always been a quick study and soon he was copying the slow pace John had set. When Sherlock's movements became more confident, John slowly sucked and nibbled on his full lower lip. Sherlock gasps in surprise and John is granted access.

Sherlock surprises John though, by taking over the kiss. He finds himself pushed up against the nearest wall with a lanky detective pressed up against him. The kiss, which started slow and chaste, has now transformed into a hot, and passionate one conveying need and lust. When they break apart for air this time, Sherlock doesn't go far. They are only inches apart, foreheads pressed together, sharing air and small smiles."John, I want to know...I mean, would you want to...that is…come to bed with me?" Sherlock finishes his rambling with a dark red blush and averted eyes.

John's eye, of course, widen when he hears the small stuttered request (some other part of his anatomy, which had already been affected by the heated snogging, also shows an interest in the conversation), but Sherlock continues before John can say anything, "Nothing sexual. I don't think..I'm not sure I'm ready for any of that, but…I would enjoy your company tonight." Sherlock's hands twitch while he waits for a response. When John has failed to reply, after several moments of shocked staring, Sherlock had taken his silence as a denial.

After blushing an even deeper shade of red, Sherlock begins to leave with a mumbled, embarrassed departure which finally makes John act. "No! I mean… Of course I'll come to bed with you. I was just surprised that you would want my company tonight." Sherlock takes his blogger's hand and places it on his chest. "Of course I want you with me. I'd be lost without my blogger."

John's face lights up at the small declaration and then proceeds to draw Sherlock into a sweet kiss. When they separate, John tightens his hold on Sherlock's hand briefly before leading him to Sherlock's room. "Then let's go."

* * *

 

That night, as Sherlock was curled around John sound asleep, John lay staring up at the ceiling with a smile on his face. The blogger lay remembering the course of the day. He gently touched his lips as he remembered inexperienced ones against his own. Although, his brow furrows once he remembers that he had meant to discuss some things with Sherlock. He had said some pretty hurtful things to Sherlock today, and the look he had given John when he had said them bordered on melancholic. This conversation was definitely not over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I know I promised Angst, but I couldn't resist this! I had to do this! I'm not going to reveal my plans for the next chapter. I'm going to leave you wondering.


	7. Flying and Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reichenbach Fall or......
> 
> Don'thateme.Don'thateme.Don'thateme.Don'thateme.Don'thateme.Don'thateme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British, Bullying, Mentions of drug abuse, Major Character Death, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: QueenLadyAnne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice (especially this chapter) and Ariane DeVere for posting the The Reichenbach Fall transcript (you can find here: http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/31651.html)

In the morning, Sherlock opens his eyes to a bright, sunny day with a smile on his face. ' _John_ ' His smile then widens as he looks over to his left and sees the sleeping man. If Sherlock had to think of a word to describe this moment, even though he would scorn himself later for such _sentimental_ thoughts, he would reluctantly describe this as bliss. ' _Complete and utter bliss.'_

Of course nothing lasts forever. A few inches away, on Sherlock's night stand, lay his phone which pings only once. When he picks it up a message appears on the screen, from a familiar number, indicating to him that it is unanswered. He clicks the message and it sends a cold chill down his spine _._

_Today is the day.-MH_

He isn't sure how long he lay staring at his phone but, beside him, John was awaking slowly. By the time John blinks up at him, he has abandoned the phone momentarily in order to smile down at the sleepy former army doctor. "Good morning, John." The drowsy blogger smiles up at his disheveled consulting detective. "Good morning."

The smile, though, slowly falls from John's face as he remembers that he needs to speak to Sherlock. Sherlock, of course, instantly deduces the reason behind the doctors change in mood and proceeds, in hopes to avoid this conversation, to get out of bed. He makes his way to the kitchen, where he then makes his way to the couch for a good sulk.

"Sherlock, we need to discuss this! We don't have soul mates. What I want to know is, do you see this going anywhere? What do you want out of this?"

Sherlock had intended to ignore any pleas for conversation, but John sidesteps his attempts at indifference by striding over to the couch and standing above the disgruntled sleuth.

With a irritated huff, the consulting detective turns, sits up, and glares up at John. "Why does what we have need a label? Why can't we just be and forget about the rest? I...care about you, and I believe you care about me. Why not just let it be?"

If John didn't know Sherlock, he would have smiled and basked in the sentimental words Sherlock had just spoken, but, John knows Sherlock. He knows the detective is only trying to divert the conversation.

John, though, softly answers, "Of course I care about you, Sherlock. But you know that that is not the point." John raises his hand before Sherlock can speak, quickly and efficiently cutting him off, "My point is that I have no idea what we are going to do. What do we tell people now?"

Before Sherlock can fully answer John's inquiries, another ping comes from the offending phone. Sherlock thanks any deity out there as he silently stands to retrieve his phone from the coffee table. He can hear John sigh but he isn't sure if it's from exasperation or acceptance.

_Come and play._

_Tower Hill._

_Jim Moriarty x._

When Sherlock and John finally arrive at the Tower, they both sit in stony silence as Jim Moriarty dances across the screen only to shatter the bullet proof glass encasing the crown jewels, but not before writing the eerie message: **Get Sherlock.**

* * *

 

Two weeks pass, which are filled with the preparations for the upcoming Moriarty trial. Each major Newsstand holds a paper detailing the trial's date, time, and where it would be held. When the court day had finally arrived, Sherlock and John both exit the flat, in their best suits, being trailed by ' _idiotic'_ news reporters.

* * *

 

Unfortunately the trial goes about the way Sherlock had believed it would. Moriarty has bribed the jury and thus escapes Scot free. ' _That wicked spider gets away, although there is damning evidence against him, and can walk the streets.'_ John thinks with a sneer. Unbeknownst to John, inside of 221B, Jim Moriarty sits talking with the armature detective.

The conversation can only be described with the words foreboding and cryptic. When Moriarty finally leaves his words hang heavily on Sherlock's mind. ' _It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall…Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I ... owe ... you.'_

Three months then fly by. It has really all come down to this. One man is standing on the edge of a rooftop while the other lay dead in a pool of his own blood. When a taxi stops at the front of St. Barts, it reminds Sherlock that this is the only solution. He picks up his phone and dials a familiar number.

"Hello?"

"John."

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" John says before he heads to the entrance of St. Barts. "Turn around and walk back the way you came now." Sherlock's frantic plea makes him pause momentarily before he redoubles his efforts, "No, I'm coming in."

"Just do as I ask. Please." Something in Sherlock's tone makes John comply and he walks back to the pavement where he had stood previously. "Where?" John asks before Sherlock chokes out, "Stop there."

"Sherlock?" John becomes slightly worried when he doesn't see the infuriating detective and begins to look around. Before John can discern Sherlock's location a broken whisper

"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."

_Oh God…_

From there, the conversation becomes broken whispers and choked out words uttered by two heart-broken men. The last words Sherlock would speak to John where, "Goodbye, John. I love you." When the last word was uttered he threw his phone to the side, spread his arms out, and falls forward.

Sherlock. _Sherlock._ _ **Sherlock**_. " **SHERLOCK!"**

It has been said that falling is a lot like flying. People say that there is a brief moment in which both fear the ultimate impact. Those who fly fear failure. They fear that they will not be able to complete the task before them. But to those who fall, they unfortunately, if they succeed...have a more permanent destination and fear that last moment of conscious thought.

To John it had seemed that Sherlock had been falling for hours. To him, everything had slowed down. He stood, _helplessly_ , unable to do anything as he watched the love of his life, crumble to the ground. He watched as Sherlock, with a sickening thud, lay bloody and broken at the steps of St. Barts. It took only a moment before John was running to Sherlock's side. When he was only a fourth of the way from his broken detective, a cyclist crashed into him sending him tumbling to the cold pavement.

When he had finally became aware of his surroundings again, he thought he had saw a striking red thread burning brightly against his tan skin. He sat up, followed the ' _imaginary'_ thread with his eyes, and noticed that the same red cord was attached to the shattered man just a few feet away from him. He closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them again the threads were gone.

Having no time to stop and fully think about what he had _thought_ he saw, John struggles to his feet and staggers forward to the bustling crowd. "I'm a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, _please_."

John stumbles forward and erases the remaining distance between them, wedges himself into the crowd forming around his love, and manages to wrap his trembling hand around Sherlock's lifeless wrist in order to check for a pulse. ' _There isn't one.'_ His eyes well with tears and the once strong, proud army doctor wavers slightly before dropping to his knees beside his best friend. Before he has a chance to react fully, a few people take him by the shoulders and pull him away. " No, he's my friend. He's my friend. **Please**." The crowd though is relentless and manages to drag him away until an ambulance arrives and then Sherlock is whisked away.

John again crumbles onto the ground, unable to keep standing due to the crushing finality and weight of it all. He is left alone then. There are no longer persistent hands holding him back, so now he lets his defenses fall and a heart-breaking sobs escapes from his lips. John's entire world has crumpled. His shoulders have slumped and he is defeated. He looks up to the sky in a silent plea for this all to have been a horrible nightmare. The only answer he receives is the sky opens up and there is a downpour of rain all around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: It gets better I promise! They're... just going through a hard time. I have good plans for this story and it doesn't end here. :D I hope I have done The Fall some justice. I'm sorry this is so late! My life has been hectic lately! I'm in a play currently and have tons of lines to memorize, I have a HUGE test coming up (the kind that determines your future big), and I've been out of town *sweatdrop*. I'll try to have eight up by tomorrow! I'm pretty much finished, I just got to run it by my extraordinary Beta! Next chapter: The threads are finally explained! (sorta...kinda)


	8. Mycroft Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The threads are finally explained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British, Bullying, Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: QueenLadyAnne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice!

It has almost been two years now. You would have thought that John would have begun to get over what has happened, but he still wakes up at night screaming and lashing out against anything that happens to be close by. These dreams, unfortunately, do not consist of harsh desert sands or bullets whizzing past his head. These dreams, which always result in a sobbing and broken army doctor, consist of hollowed, unfocused eyes and a crimson red clashing against pale and tan skin. He still feels haunted by the brief flash of the red threads. 'As if losing Sherlock wasn't painful enough...now my mind is deluding itself into thinking we are bonded.' Still John would chant a little mantra of, ‘ I was mistaken. I was wrong. I didn’t see what I had thought I had seen. Let. It.  GO !’ 

 

He does try dating…once, a few weeks after The Fall. It was going fairly decently. Mary knew he didn’t love her and she didn’t expect anything more from him. Or so John thought. Two months after their first date, Mary (un)subtly brings up marriage, as if trying to gauge his reaction and see if he would be amenable to a wedding someday. He, at first, could ignore her feelings for awhile, although, when she finally said those three little words, he dumped her like all the rest. He then decides that dating is a  tedious  affair and pursues a life of singularity. He only truly ever loved one person in his lifetime, but now he was gone.

 

If he could help it, John refused to think back to that day. His dreams haunt him each night and the empty rooms of 221B drag him even further into the dark pits of depression he had visited previously, before Sherlock was in his life.

 

This time though, the despair seems to swallow him whole. He is drowning and no one seems to see. He sees all the happy, smiling people and  hates them. His smiles feel stiff and awkward and getting out of bed in the morning is a chore. It was bad before, but now, he feels as if he is struggling to move or breathe. Everything feels so hopeless. What is the point?

 

Before Sherlock had…before Sherlock, John was broken, yet, Sherlock took the pieces and stitched him back together again. Now though, this once strong, proud man has been reduced to a shell of who he once was. This time…...he doesn’t believe he can be fixed. 

 

 

* * *

Mycroft has taken it upon himself to visit John every two weeks. He would travel to Baker Street, in one of his private cars, and try to coax John into leaving the dismal flat. The conversations would always go about the same. Mycroft would pronounce, in that posh voice he always seems to enunciate in, that ‘John was being entirely too  sentimental’ and that ‘he should get out of the flat and try to live his life.’ Each long, drawn out recommendation, would be ignored and fall on deaf ears. John would respond, the same way he always would. He wouldn’t actually say a word. He would walk over to the door, open it, and indicate to Mycroft, with a firm set to his shoulders and hardened eyes, that his presences is no longer wanted. He would then leave the flat, accomplishing nothing. 

 

But something was off about this visit. Mycroft, unlike the usual routine, went into the kitchen, made two cups of tea, handed one to John, led him over to Sherlock's chair, and took the other over to John’s old chair to sit down. Once he was settled, he looked at John with an air of omniscience. When he actually began to speak, it caught John’s attention, “When you and my little brother first met, you came face to face with another seemingly threadless man. At the time, you wouldn’t have been able to realize that my brother did in fact have a soul mate or that his soul mate was very much alive."  John's eyes narrow as Mycroft pauses. He seems to be debating with himself internally before he cautiously continues with, "We have reason to believe that you are his one intended.”

 

 

* * *

“John, there have been other cases like yours and Sherlock’s. The threads have disappeared before death due to severe trauma. As Sherlock has told you before, he has never had a thread. We believe that he hadn’t developed it yet. As you know, Sherlock had a extended infatuation with drugs. My people believe that the drugs put a strain on his system and stunted the growth of the bond between you two. Researchers have not heard of a case in which the threads occupants hadn’t received one at such a late age, but agree it is possible. In your case, when you had been shot, the trauma of the incident left you unable to find your soul bonded.” 

 

John’s gaze, throughout Mycroft’s explanation, remained, hollowly, fixated on the wall. He looked at Mycroft momentarily before staring at the wall once again to reply, in a broken whisper, “Then why did it appear now?” 

 

Mycroft tapped his umbrella against his shoe before saying, “We believe that…this event…..was traumatic enough to bring back the threads momentarily if not permanently. Sherlock had, once before, told me that his thread had appeared, when he was recovering from his overdose, because he had felt like he had been ‘shot’.” 

 

That was enough to finally break John out of his indifferent haze. His gaze bore into Mycroft’s knowing eyes but he didn’t say anything. Mycroft stood up then, from where he was perched in John’s old chair in 221B, and strolled over to the door. Before he exited the room he turned to John and uttered an eerie, vague message, “ When Sherlock was little he had desired, besides being a pirate, to be a magician. He would stay up late at night practicing card tricks and illusions. He has always enjoyed his ‘magic tricks’ John.”

 

With an air that only the Holmes’ men seem to achieve, Mycroft swept away elegantly down the stairs and out the door, leaving John with a feeling of confusion and dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes sense! I hope it all will come together in the next chapter. Sherlock will return and the rating will possibly go up (I haven't decided yet). The boys are now finally confirmed as soul mates :D
> 
> I hate to do this and I apologize.... I'm going to have to update now on Wednesday and Saturday. I'm working on getting the updates done but I'm not sure I can do it for Monday. (again, sorry!)


	9. Dying and Biscuits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), Unbeta'd, I'm not British, Bullying Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

When Mycroft had finally came to collect Sherlock, he had been beaten, bloody, and a little worse for wear, but as they boarded a plane back to their beloved city, Sherlock knew it was all worth it. He knew John was safe and protected from the wicked spiders he had been fighting this whole time.

As Sherlock lay getting his haircut and wounds tended to, Mycroft told Sherlock, two years and three days into his hiatus away from John, about his soul mate. At first, ' _the pompous git_ ', didn't explain any of the details and had led Sherlock to believe that it was someone other than John. Of course the consulting detective refused any other mate other than his beloved blogger. He has finally found, in his opinion, his soul mate, and doesn't need a red thread to confirm it.

Mycroft, (again) _the pompous git_ , only smirks and then proceeds tells Sherlock that his mate is John. If he didn't have control over his facial features, he would have grimaced and blushed. The detective then lashes out in his embarrassment, due to showing his heart to his insufferable older brother. The British government then tells Sherlock that John has moved out of Baker Street and has 'moved on' with his life. That stops Sherlock for a moment, but no matter, when John sees Sherlock he'll move back in and everything will be like it was before.

When he finally leaves one of Mycroft's many houses, the consulting detective springs into action. He begins packing his meager belongings _'This is it! Finally!'_ Sherlock had been fighting so hard these last two years to come home. He hadn't meant to be gone for so long, but Moriarty's web had stretched all across the globe. He would have given up so long ago if he hadn't had someone to come home to. ' _John...'_ He smiles when he thinks of his beloved blogger. ' _Finally..'_ He can go home to his soul mate.

John had decided to move out of Baker Street because even though Mycroft was paying for his living arrangements and he no longer had to worry about money, everywhere he looked, Sherlock's possessions and his memory still lived in the now dismal flat. So, we now find John back in a small, tidy _(boring)_ flat that is devoid of bullet holes and a watchful yellow smiling face painted upon the wall. He 'lives' his life. He wakes up every day, limping around the confined space, just going through the motions.

But on one sunny day in January, Mrs. Hudson calls him and asks him to remove some of Sherlock's old book. So, with a heavy footsteps and heart, John travels once again to 221B Baker Street. When the cab drops him off at the front of the building, he reaches one shaky hand forward, turns the doorknob, opens the door, and continues up the stairs to the familiar flat. Instead of a cheery Mrs. Hudson, he sees a man that invade his dreams nightly and was said to be dead. "Hello John."

The man before him, who has always appeared so sure and confident now stands unsure, fiddling with his hands, waiting for the blogger to say something. When the silence weighs too heavily on the consulting detective's shoulders, he begins to ramble useless nonsense. When John steps forward, on slight uneven steps, Sherlock's maundering speech comes to an abrupt end.

When John is a few feet away from the uncomfortable detective, he stops and stares up at him with widened eyes. "John, I-." Unfortunately at that moment, John decides to move and proceeds to do so by punching him in the face. Both individuals land on the floor with a loud thud, John on top of Sherlock. "WHO THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" Sherlock scrambles back from where he had fallen to gape at the angry army doctor. "John, it's me! Sherlock." He laughs bitterly and his voice becomes biting and cold when he answers, "Sherlock is dead. I watched him fall. You are not him." At that, John tackles the offending man, raises his hand, and brings it down to to strike him again…yet, this time he stops. Before his fist can connect with the angular features before him, he remembers another time when this same face lay bloodied and lifeless on the stony streets of London.

John's eyes widen and fill with tears as he scrambles backward and away from Sherlock. A half-choked off sob escapes involuntarily from trembling thin lips and arms come up to hide his face from the shocked, slightly bruised face in front of him. When the sobs subside momentarily, John looks up with red-rimmed eyes and whispers, "Why? I don't care how. I just want to know why."

"I promise, if there was another way in order to keep you safe, I would have taken it! Moriarty had snipers placed on all of my friends and if I didn't jump, he would send out the word and all of you would have died. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade…..you… Either I die, or you die."

John's face has taken on that blank, emotionless mask he has perfected these last two years. "Why didn't you come back when the snipers had been taken care of?"

"There was always someone else! Moriarty's web had spread all across the globe. I have fought to make my way back home. I've just finished. If I could have gotten home sooner I would have taken it, but, while there was another member still alive, you and everyone else remained at risk. I couldn't come back until it was all taken care of."

John wipes his eyes on his jumper, stands up, and watches as Sherlock clambers his way up. When they stand face to face, John pulls him in for a hug. The sleuth melts into the familiar embrace only briefly until the blogger is gone and is replaced with a quiet click of the front door. The hug, although brief, had told Sherlock enough to know that he was not completely forgiven. There were still many things that needed to be settled between the two.

Communication between the two had become stilted and awkward because John no longer knew what to say and Sherlock didn't know how to fix the barrier between them. John still lives in a cramped flat on the other side of London but will join Sherlock for the occasional case. This particular case, three months after Sherlock's return, was at least a seven and the excited detective wanted his loyal blogger by his side. Unfortunately, said loyal blogger was currently at work.

**Sent To: John Watson, 2:06 p.m.**

_I need you. -SH_

**Message Received from Sherlock Holmes, 2:08 p.m.:**

_Come at once if convenient or not.-SH_

**Message Received from Sherlock Holmes, 2:11 p.m.:**

_It's a 7 John. 7!_

John hears his phone vibrating in his pocket, excuses himself from the other doctors and checks his messages. He rolls his eyes and quickly typed out his reply.

**Message Received from John Watson, 2:20 p.m.:**

_I'm at work, I'll see you at five. -JW_

John pockets his phone and goes to take his next patient.

Sherlock pockets his phone ' _It's not as fun when John isn't here.'_ The irritable sleuth took his frustrations out on the Yarders by the usual comments of ' _Idiots'_ or ' _What is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so vacant.'_ When it was finally time to make the arrests Sherlock and Lestrade chased the villain throughout the streets of London. Sherlock, ' _the idiot',_ tackled the masked man to the ground. But unbeknownst to the armature detective, the man had knife and had managed to stab his lower abdomen. Greg, before the man could escape, had handcuffed him and zip tied his feet together. He then rushes to Sherlock's side, takes the Sherlock's blue scarf to stunt the bleeding, and then calls for an ambulance and other Yarders

The ambulance arrives eight minutes after Lestrade finishes giving his orders to Sergeant Donovan. When and only when the suspect gets placed into the police car, Sherlock then allows himself to be strapped into a gurney and placed into the medical vehicle.

At 3:54, John takes out his phone again to check the time and sees 3 missed messages.

**Message Received from Sherlock Holmes, 3:23 p.m.:**

_John! -SH_

**Message Received from Sherlock Holmes, 3:25 p.m.:**

_I'm dying. Bring biscuits._

John of course snorts out a laugh at the second one but continues on with the third and final message

**Message Received from Greg Lestrade, 3:30 p.m.:**

_John, Sherlock's been stabbed in his stomach. The ambulance is taking him to the hospital now._

When he sees the last message his blood turns to ice and freezes only momentarily before he makes an excuse to Sarah and quickly leaves the establishment. He then texts Greg to find out where they are. In the cab ride over to the hospital, John can feel this odd tingling sensation in his left hand. Without looking down, he knows what he will find there: an unmistakable crimson, fiery red thread connecting him to the man not even two miles away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I'm sorry for the Angst guys! Next chapter WILL be fluffy. I promise! Another thing... The threads are back! (They are staying too! :D) I'm not sure if I have mentioned it to you all, but I have to move the update days to Wednesday and Saturday. My life is going crazy and I've got too much on my plate at the moment. I hope, when all this junk is over, that I will be able to update sooner. Until then, please bare with me! I'm working on the story I swear! :D (p.s. I found that text about dying and biscuits on tumblr. I didn't come up with it unfortunately )


	10. Medicated Texting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John visits Sherlock in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British, Bullying, Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: QueenLadyAnne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice, and all my reviewers and commenters. You guys seriously make my day! :D

 

' _Bored_. **Bored**.' " **BORED!** " Sherlock hated hospitals. He hated the smell, he hated the people, but what he hated the most was that he could feel the sheer, utter boredom sinking in. That all-consuming dread that if he didn't do something to stimulate his racing mind, he would surely go mad. He had told the ' _imbecile_ ' doctors that he was fit to go home but they only ignored him. Him! The bestest-est consulting detective in the _whole_ world! The doctors should have realized how brilliant he was due to his extensive knowledge in cigarette ash and soil samples, but these ' _inferior_ ' medical men clearly didn't know true brilliance like his doctor John did.

"John!" the heavily medicated, detective giggled (had he been thinking rationally, Sherlock would have scolded himself and would have been appalled by that fact, and then would adamantly deny such an abominable noise had ever occurred). How could he ever forget about lovely, wonderful, dependent John?!

Speaking of his loyal blogger, where was he? He was sure he had specifically told him he was dying and needed nourishment! He looked around the room and saw his phone lying only inches away. Sherlock giggled again. Of course! The solution is so clear! If John wasn't here it was because he didn't receive any of the messages Sherlock sent. He picks up his phone, scrolls down to John's name, types out a text, and hits send.

Minutes later, the worried army doctor's phone pings several times, indicating to him that he has received messages.

**Message received from Sherlock Holmes, 4:30**

_Jaaaawwwn! Bring me nourishment! Please? -SH_

**Message received from Sherlock Holmes, 4:32**

_Where is Jawn? I need him here! -SH_

**Message received from Sherlock Holmes, 4:34**

_I love John! Even though I don't tell him so, I really really REALLY do! -SH_

**Message received from Sherlock Holmes, 4:35**

_Don't tell John though, 'cause he's mad at me right now. I don't think he loves me no more. :'( -SH_

When he receives this message, John can feel his heart aching for the childlike detective. _'You daft git... Of course I love you._ ' When the next text is received, John's cab has pulled up to the hospital's entrance. He quickly pays the fare and exits the vehicle.

**Message received from Sherlock Holmes, 4:37**

_I don't know why he's mad at me, I did it all for him. 'Cause I love him. He makes me happy. :D - SH_

His short legs take him to the receptionist's desk where he quickly gets the information needed before getting in the elevator and pressing the designated button.

The elevator makes its slow ascension up toward the desired room and when the small ding noise sounds, forty seconds later, John has already exited the small chamber, before the doors have even finished opening all the way.

He follows the red thread until he stops suddenly outside the closed, solid door separating the two soul mates together. He takes in a deep breath before opening the barrier.

* * *

The sight before John makes him pause for a moment. Even though John knows that Sherlock has been stabbed and can see the white bandages wrapped around his pale abdomen, the long stretch of near translucent skin makes him pause only briefly to enjoy the view.

When Sherlock catches sight of John though he says, far too loudly, "JOHN!" The previously drowsy detective begins to struggle against the constricting sheets wrapped around his legs until a chuckling army doctor walks forward and lays a steadying hand on Sherlock's smooth pale chest before saying, "Easy! Easy now. It's alright. I'm here now."

The heavily medicated sleuth beams a broad, joyful smile up at his soul mate. "You came! I told Mycroft you would! He didn't believe me. Stupid git. I almost started to believe him but you're here now, so it's all okay!" John suddenly finds himself wrapped up in long, lanky limbs with dark curls brushing his chin. He bends his head slightly to press a loving kiss into the raven locks. "Yes, I'm here."

When Sherlock finally frees John from the constricting embrace, he settles down against the pillows and closes his eyes and breathes a sigh of contentment. John goes to pull a chair beside the bed until Sherlock lunges forward, and grabs hold of John's wrist. "No! You can't leave! I've just got you back! I fought so hard to get you back! Don't leave me now. Please…" To John's utter horror, Sherlock's eyes well up with tears.

"Love, I'm not going anywhere." John says as he brushes away the tears that are falling from beautiful verdigris eyes. Sherlock, though, seems to only cry harder before replying brokenly with, "You are now, but you'll leave! You always leave. I thought that when I could finally come home, you'd be happy. You asked me to come back. I've been so alone." The melancholy detective has briefly stopped crying but this possibly is much worse. He seems to be lost in his own head, eyes staring blankly at the bland wall, reliving his own twisted past.

"I've been beaten and tortured for hours. When I was in Serbia, I was captured by some of Moriarty's cohorts. They put me in chains and questioned me for hours about that stupid, fake code Moriarty had implanted in the sniper's heads. When I told them that the code wasn't real, they got vicious. They got out the cat o' nine tails and made deep lacerations into my skin. They, of course, didn't believe me and the beatings got worse each day. Mycroft finally came and rescued me." Sherlock then looks up with red-rimmed eyes, into John's softened gaze, "I would do it all again though. You are safe. It was worth it all, even if you never love me again….I'm really sleepy though, John. Goodnight, I love you." Before John can reply to anything Sherlock has said, the usually reserved detective has taken the blogger's calloused hand in his own, lain down with his eyes closed and has finally fallen to sleep.

John's not naïve enough to believe that if Sherlock hadn't been so heavily medicated, that he would have gotten this much out of the introverted man. Sherlock has obviously been more affected by John's absence than he lets on. He had never thought about it from Sherlock's perspective. He had only ever thought about his hurt or his pain, but now, he realizes it has not been all one-sided. When Sherlock next awoke, they would have to have a serious discussion about everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, in the first few paragraphs, I've written it kind like Sherlock is telling the story (sorta). I've meant to write bestest-est because I wanted Sherlock to appear child-like in his medicated state. As promised Fluff. :D (even though it's tainted with a bit of angst. Not much, but some :/) If you can't tell, out of every character in the series, Sherlock is my favorite. So, I have a thing for crying Sherlock. When I read fics like that, it rips my heart out so, I had to share it with you all :D I hope you like the chapter! :D


	11. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British, Bullying, Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. Or the song "I Don't Want to Love Nobody Else" -A Great Big World (I used a few of the lyrics in this chapter. I couldn't help it :D It's so adorable :D)
> 
> Special Thanks: QueenLadyAnne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice!

When Sherlock finally opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is a sleeping John Watson laying across the hospital bed at an awkward angle with one hand clutching tightly to his own. At a first glance, Sherlock could tell that John hadn't been sleeping well or left his side much at all. A small smile spreads across the detective’s face as he looks at his caring doctor. The next thing Sherlock notices is the striking red thread connecting himself to the man in front of him. His smile broadens and brightens due to the proof burning brightly between the two hands.

 

Unfortunately, though, he begins to remember what he had said and done just hours previously. He can feel his face heat traitorously and tighten in embarrassment. Sherlock, the ever dignified and proud man, had behaved so childishly and immaturely in front of his beloved.  In order to avoid the inevitable discussion of feelings, and further embarrassment. Sherlock tries to subtly make his way out of the bed. At that moment his wound decides to cause him some pain and his treturous body betrays him,yet again, as he lets out an involuntary moan of discomfort. The man before him jerks awake as if denying that he had been previously asleep this entire time. John blinks blurred eyes up at the agitated sleuth.  

 

“How are you feeling?” came the sleep-filled voice of the stirring blogger. An irritated huff comes from Sherlock’s direction before he eventually answers with a reluctant “I’m fine.” The blogger then proceeds to stand and stretch his cramped muscles which are due to sleeping in such an uncomfortable position for so long. When John has settled down once again, all sleep seems to be devoid from his eyes and Sherlock knows now that the discussion will be had.

 

“Sherlock, we need to talk.”

 

He was hoping to have a little more time before John started _the war_. In retaliation, the petulant detective crosses his arms over his chest with a huff, sticks his lower lip out in a pout, and turns away from John to glower at the wall. John lets a small smile grace his features for a moment for his adorable detective, but he quickly takes on a serious set to his shoulders and stance to convey to the child-like man that this discussion is a pressing issue and must be felt with. Sherlock takes moment to steel himself before John begins.

 

"Why didn't say that you were hurting so much?"

 

Out of all the questions Sherlock had expected John to ask, that was not one of them. Sherlock’s demeanor then changes, his arms slacken slightly, his shoulders slacken, and he then turns to face John to softly reply, “It didn’t seem important at the time. You were obviously hurting and I didn’t want to add unnecessary strain to our already strained relationship. I had hopes that when I finally did return that you would be amenable to pick up where we had left off. I know I’m not the easiest man to live with but I had hoped when Mycroft had talked to you about our soul bounds you would have come back to me, but you didn’t. Now that I had a soul mate, I didn’t want to drive him away because I said something foolish.” He takes a moment to draw in a near inaudible breath and cast his eyes downward before continuing. “As the time passed, I just assumed that you wanted to forget about what all had happened. I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than I already had."

 

John felt that a knot form in his throat at the quiet words the detective had spoken. The man before him was heartbroken and genuinely believed that John didn’t love him anymore. Well, it was time to nip that in the bud. He had loved this man for so long and he was finally going to let him know so. “I know I haven’t said it before, but I love you too.”

 

Verdigris eyes snap upward as those words were spoken. “We didn’t exactly talk about how either of us felt after you fell. We both left too much unspoken. I left my feelings buried inside and you weren’t exactly forthcoming with your own.  Sherlock, I know my actions have been telling you that’s all over….but, I don’t want to love somebody else.” The detective has a small smile painted across his face as he says, “I don’t want to love anyone else either.” John’s answering grin lights up his entire face. “Good.. That’s good. So, where do you want this to go? What do you want out of this?”

 

“I want to wake up everyday and see your face. I want to hold your hand and kiss you goodnight. I want to be able to go on cases with you all the time, and I want to share the success with you. I want to be able to tell everyone that you are mine and that I am yours. I just want to be with you.”

 

“God, I want the same.” John pulls Sherlock into a careful hug in which the detective’s face goes into the curve of the blogger’s neck. Long lanky arms curl around a jumper clad waist and answering arms wrap around a swan-like neck and hands tangle into raven curls. When they finally draw apart, John leans forward and plants a sweet kiss on Sherlock’s forehead and then proceeds to trial his lips down to meet the detective’s own. When they draw apart for air, both parties have red stained cheeks and happy smiles painted upon their faces. Their red threads that connected both souls glowed brightly which solidified the moment. At that moment, both hearts beat as one and two souls were officially bonded.

 

“The next time you feel anything like this again, I want you to come tell me.” Sherlock nods his head in acceptance and draws John into another sweet kiss. They draw apart again when a text chimes on Sherlock’s phone which reads:

 

**Message Received from Mycroft Holmes, 6:34 p.m.**

_I assume that Dr. Watson’s belongings should be returned to Baker Street. I’ll have them delivered shortly. -MH_

 

The blogger laughs at the detective’s affronted expression when they read the text. John couldn’t care though, that Mycroft has decided to intervene, he was just happy that he would be able to finally go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I'm sick. I'm so sick that I've been in bed all day. I'm sorry this is so short but, I feel so bad and I just finished this today and my lovely beta had to actually get this story out of me. She beta'd fortunately just in time (Again, thank you Anne :D). I'll try and answer all the comments Saturday. I'll talk to you all Saturday. I'm going back to bed. :/


	12. Best Thing I Never Knew I Needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dynamic duo go home :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British, Bullying, Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: Anne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice!

Sherlock and John were in the hospital for three (insufferable) days. By the time they have exited the establishment, Sherlock has made five nurses cry, three janitors angry, (When the nurses would bring him food, he would hide it from John and let it sit until mold started growing from it. When questioned why he had done such a thing, he mumbled the word experiment before bellowing "BORED!" in which he proceed to curl in on himself for a good sulk. The livid janitors did not see the brilliance in said experiment or amusement in having to clean up the mess left behind. Sherlock finds it amusing that they are still finding the experiments.) and one frustrated John Watson.

John wasn't embarrassed by his love, he was in fact mostly very proud, but he could do without the agitated whispers coming from the other nurses and staff members. So, when they finally returned home, both blogger and detective breathed a collective sigh of relief. The doctor told both men that the healing process would take three to four weeks and during that time Sherlock couldn't do any strenuous activity, he would have to drink plenty of fluids, get plenty of sleep, and eat a healthy diet. Sherlock ignored the doctor but John nodded his head diligently, already planning out dietary plans and rest schedules that will most likely be ignored by the wounded sleuth.

As they stepped through the threshold together, (Sherlock, then closely followed by John) they looked around and noticed Mycroft had kept his word. John's possessions now fill the empty crevices that were once conspicuous and mocked Sherlock, every time he viewed the bare places. John knows that without having to look, that each and every item would be in its proper place.

The pair carefully makes their way to Sherlock's room in order for him to change out of his gross-smelling hospital clothing and into his silken pajama bottoms and his dressing gown. John helps him out of said disgusting clothes with red stained cheeks and eyes firmly locked on the plain wall in order to give his love some privacy. When the clothes have been replaced without to much embarrassment, John leads Sherlock back out and into the living room.

He carefully lays Sherlock down on the sofa and then walks into the kitchen to prepare tea. He takes two mugs down along with two tea bags, fills the kettle with water and sets it on the stove to boil. When the high shrilling sound is heard, John carefully pours the boiling water into the, tea bag filled, mugs and gives it a stir. He takes out the milk and pours the perfect amount into his own cup before doing the same to the other. Once the liquid has turned the right color, he removes the tea bags and measures out two spoonfuls of sugar into Sherlock's mug.

With two perfectly made teas in each hand, he takes both mugs out of the kitchen and into the living room in which he sets Sherlock's on the coffee table in front of him and gently helps the consulting detective up. When that has been accomplished, John sits in his own chair and sips his tea. Two sets of eyes gaze into the other, in a silent inquiry of 'Now what?'

Before either party could do anything, a knock sounded from downstairs and then there was a brief conversation before feet pounded their ascension into the stairs. Moments late Lestrade poked his head out behind the door and steps into the room. "I thought I'd stopped by and give these to Sherlock." He then steps forward and hands the cold case files to the gleeful looking detective. "I figured he'd be bored soon without something to- how do you put it?- 'stimulate your brain'? Anyway, that's all I really wanted. I'll be off." Lestrade turns as if to leave but John pipes up and asks the greying DI if he would like a cup of tea.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind. Black, two sugars, please?" John stands and nods and the answering "Ta." sets him in motion toward the kitchen. Lestrade walks forward and sits down in Sherlock's old chair. Sherlock then pulls his dressing gown tighter around his exposed chest and Lestrade shifts in his seat awkwardly. The silence feels oppressive and deafening, so, when John finally does return, both detectives sigh in relief as John inquires about the last football match. Sherlock watches contentedly as the conversation carries on without him. He picks up the case file and takes one last look as his thread-mate, small smile painting across his angular features, before delving into a case about a 70 year old man murdered in a pet-shop.

Time elapses and several cups of tea have been consumed. During the two hours, Sherlock has pretty much solved the case and was working on finalizing all the details in his mind, that is until Lestrade stands to collect his coat, which had been discarded after the first hour, and walks over to Sherlock and takes his hand saying, "I'm glad you are alright, mate." Sherlock nods, gives a small smile, before shaking the hand clutching at his own. Lestrade then goes over to the door and inclines his head, silently asking if John would follow him down. Without waiting for confirmation, Lestrade heads down the stairs to await at the bottom for the loyal blogger. A minute later both DI and Doctor stand at the bottom of the staircase, in front of the door.

With one hand gripping the door knob, Greg turns to John and says, "Listen, I just wanted you to know that I'm thankful Sherlock has you. I was there when he had his danger nights. I knew him at his worst. I thought he would never find anyone, because he never had anyone but me and Mycroft. I know the pompous uncaring arse, but with you he is like a totally new person. At one time I said he was a great man, but you make him good. I just wanted to thank you for sticking by his side and loving him. He needed someone like you."

John softly smiles at the aging detective before quietly whispering, "No. I needed him. He's the best thing I never knew I needed. When we first met, I had no idea when we first met how important he would become to me. He's my whole world. He brought me back to life and gave me a reason to live when I had given up. I owe him so much. I need him with me always." The only reply John receives from the DI is a firm embrace before the sentimental man leaves the flat with one last departing nod. John then travels back up the stairs to rejoin Sherlock on the sofa. "What did George want?"

"Greg wanted to know when you would be coming back into Scotland Yard. I told him it would be a couple of weeks at least."

"Hmm. You're lying, but I'll figure it out later. Now, I want to tell you what I found out about the case!"

That's how the evening ends. Sherlock's head in John's lap as John cards his fingers through silky benighted curls while Sherlock reveals each detail of the case and unravels marvelous deductions for his blogger. The occasional 'brilliant!' or 'extraordinary!' could be heard coming from the flat until it came time for bed. Blogger and detective lay down together with the hands connecting and kisses being peppered onto lips, faces, and necks. Two whispered "I love yous" are the only thing said before both men fall asleep, red threads glowing brightly throughout the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Here I am! I'm feeling much better! I plan to go back into chapter 11 and fix it. There was so much more I wanted to do with that but couldn't because I honestly felt so bad. I hope you like this one better. Fluff, fluff and more fluff! I look back on chapter 11 and then to this one, and it looks like a totally different writer almost. That's what a medicated induced haze can do to you kids ;) Sorry I'm posting so late... My mother is sick (with the same illness I had) so I took care of her. Oh, and before I forget, check me out on Rebecca E's blog. I did a guest writer thingy. Giver her much love! :D Here it is: http://rebeccasbook.blogspot.ca/2014/03/guest-blogger-little-help-from-friends.html


	13. Eye Wanna Hold Your Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's been a few murders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British, Bullying, Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: QueenLadyAnne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice, and all my reviewers and commenters. You guys seriously make my day! :D

To Sherlock's dismay, his recovery time had taken four weeks and five days. If you had asked John, he would muttered something about a "Bloody git, not taking his injuries seriously," and then you would have heard a louder comment, as if John were hinting to the infuriating detective, about "Needing a few more days of rest! (Said detective refused to sleep for more than four hours each night, thus the need for a longer recovery time)" Although, if you had asked Sherlock, he would have adamantly disagreed and then say that he was ready to go back four weeks ago.

The first two weeks had been going well. Sherlock had had the cold cases and a humanoid head tucked away in the freezer to experiment on. Unfortunately, for the detective and blogger, the cases had quickly been solved and the head was only entertaining for a few short hours. The last two remaining weeks had been filled with a disgruntled raven haired man that declared loudly and profusely that he was " **BORED**!" Finally, though, it was time for the detective to return back to what he does best. He would be taking a cab out in just a few short minutes to a crime scene pertaining to a serial killer that had a thing for eyes and hands.

It was finally time for detective and blogger to leave, Sherlock was a bundle of excited energy. Considering that the armature sleuth had been cooped up in the flat for 33 days, John couldn't fault or berate the man before him, for irrelevant things like 'timing' or 'having glee' at a crime scene. In fact, John had to smile at his childlike enthusiasm. When the dark moods had set in, smiles and laughter had taken a back seat to brooding and despondent glaring.

When the cab pulls up to the unimposing flat John is left to pay the fare, like always, and the dynamic duo is met with flashing blue and red lights. Detective Inspector Lestrade stands off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for the pair to arrive.

Sherlock then walks forward to be updated on the case by the DI, but turns around when he realizes his threadmate has not followed. John is on the sidewalk talking on the phone, in a hushed whisper, to some unknown party (' _Harriet_ ' Sherlock silently supplies). His Shoulders are tense and eyebrows are furrowed. When Sherlock catches his love's eye, John nods his head as if to say, ' _Go ahead, I'll be up shortly._ ' With an answering nod, the dark headed sleuth is gone, leaving John on the sidewalk with a intoxicated Harry bemoaning about her woes.

* * *

When Greg and Sherlock entered the flat, Lestrade pulls him aside by the arm and cautiously says to the him, "Look, the others don't know about you and John. I've had time to come to terms with the threads when you were at the hospital, but not everyone will be as receptive to this new information. It might come as a...shock to a few individuals... Don't provoke them."

Sherlock pulls away with a huff, rolls his eyes, and then replies with, "I don't see why it's any of their business. If these _people_ of yours, aren't professional enough to handle something this mundane and quotidian, then I can see why you need my help." With that, Sherlock, being trailed by Lestrade, then turns to dash up the stairs in order to get to the crime scene.

When the consulting detective steps into the room, he is met with Ms. Donovan's "lovely" voice declaring, "The **Freak's** here!" He ignores them as his mind quickly switches over to case mode. He takes in the room before him, noting the four sobbing family members in the corner currently being questioned by another member of Scotland Yard, deducing with an intelligence that could rival the deity Mímir(1), before turning to the body which was lying lifelessly, face down on the floor. ' _Female, approximately 5'1"- 5'2", age 21-23 years old, artist-mostly sketches, lives alone, Right handed_ ' He turns the body over and inspects the other side. ' _Knew attacker, attacker approximately 5'5"-5'6"._ ' Sherlock then takes out his pocket magnifier glass to scrutinize her blouse in more detail, which he then finds a dark brown, curly strand of hair.

"The Victim's name is Brianna Andrews, age 22. Her sister Alicia found her." Greg points her out then says, "The previous victims are members of her family. Mother Christina Andrews, age 43." Lestrade pauses briefly in his update to hand over pictures of each deceased member to Sherlock before continuing, "And sister Samantha Andrews, age 15. All Victims have had the same treatment. Neck sliced, right hand decapitated, then eyes gouged. We think these traits are part of the serial killer's M.O."

Sherlock, during Lestrade's retelling of facts, analyzes each photo before walking over to the four mourning family members, 'father, two sisters, and a brother,' inspecting each in turn, before turning to Greg, " The latest victim, Brianna ,was an artist. Her right sleeve is lightly coated with graphite. The graphite was picked up when she swiped her hand across the paper to remove the eraser shavings. Her mother Christina was a surgeon, the photos show her degrees. Little Samantha was a musical prodigy. She played the violin, which I know based upon the rosin on her right sleeve. What do each of these unique individuals have in common, besides being related?"

Sherlock then turns to Alicia, a brunette with curling ringlets, before continuing his discourse with slightly narrowed eyes, "Each victim had an extraordinary talent that used both eyes and hands. Our killer is an envious, destructive individual with little to no direction in her life. They always blamed others for their mistakes. Our suspect had a troubled childhood. No, they weren't abused but they were the troubled middle child. The black sheep of the family." He turns away from Alicia to walk over to the mantle where each photo had been meticulously cleaned and taken care except the last picture on the mantle of Brianna and Alicia. They are hugging each other stiffly, smiles forced, and eyes staring solely at the camera.

He picks up the last photo before turning back to Lestrade and saying, "The killer is the type to parade in front of family members, pretend to be grieving over the loss of such a talented woman, but is secretly joyful and giddy. Her hatred and resentment for the three women, grew until she just couldn't stand it anymore. Our killer doesn't have a talent. No one believes she will ever really amount to anything. She finally broke one night when Brianna had called to tell her the exciting news. She was getting accepted into an animation studio which was her dream job. Alicia is your killer. She drove over and killed her after having an argument about said job in which Alicia wanted her to decline. She had already killed her younger sister and mother, one more wouldn't have made a difference." Brianna's father steps angrily forward at the accusation against his middle child but stops when he saw Alicia's face.

Her face was arranged in an ugly scowl, her once pretty features have been twisted until unrecognizable by her hatred. When she begins to speak, her eyes are like ice, voice filled with hatred before saying, "Yes, I've done it. I've always been the bad child. 'Why can't you be like Brianna, Alicia? She's perfect, smart, funny, and everyone likes her!' No one ever notices me. I'm always overlooked. When Brianna called saying she had got the promotion, I was so...angry! It was just going to be another thing she would get recognized for that I wouldn't. I came over here and killed her."

Lestrade quickly steps forward and arrests her. Three family members are now sobbing for a different reason along with the first. As she is being led away by the good DI, Anderson then walks into the room but stops short when he sees Sherlock's red thread.

"What the hell is that?!"

At Anderson's outburst Sergeant Donovan flounces into the room but stops as Anderson had, before snidely commenting, "I pity the poor soul bound to you! Who the hell would want the heartless **Freak** as their mate?"

As the annoying woman is finishing her sentence, John makes his way slowly up the stairs. Harry had went on, and on, and _on_ about how Clara won't talk to her and how she was a complete and utter waste of space. He was happy he had to end the call to check on Sherlock. Speaking of, he sees his lovely sleuth but pauses when he comes just outside of the room when he hears the last part of her sentence.

"I can't believe he even has a mate!" Anderson chortles, "Why anyone would want him is beyond me. His mate must be a desperate, poor sod to be in a relationship with him. Anyone can see that Sherlock's just a sociopath and a  **Freak**!"

John's anger had steadily climbed as each word was articulated by the cruel pair against the consulting detective, but when he looks over to Sherlock his heart stops and then breaks for his beautiful genius.

Sherlock's features have shut down completely. His shoulders are slightly slumped over and his frame sagging. His face is devoid of all emotion or feeling as each word is said. He doesn't say anything and lets them continue on with their bullying.

"What did you have to do to them **Freak**? Did you drug them, torture them to make them stay? You've must've done something. No one would willingly stay with you for over ten seconds let alone a lifetime. The only reason John stays with you is because he pities you." Anderson laughs before taking over Donovan's cruel words, "Aw, look at the sad little pretend detective! He doesn't even have any friends!"

John then steps forward until he can hold Sherlock's hand. "Not that it's any of your business but I'm Sherlock's threadmate. I stay with him, not out of pity, but because I love him. You apparently don't know what that feels like, because each of you have a threadmate yet you have tossed them aside to pursue your own selfish desires. If anyone here should be ridiculed or judged it would be the two of you. Sherlock's just discovered that I'm his intended and he has been more faithful than either of you have. And he is not a pretend detective! He's more of a detective than any of you will ever be. If he weren't and you were, you wouldn't need his help now would you? Neither one of you have the mental capabilities to keep your jobs, if it weren't for him, you both would most likely have been fired long ago!"

John turns away from the speechless oppressors and turns toward his beloved detective before going up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "Come on love, let's head home." John then tugs gently at Sherlock's arm until he gets the idea and they exit the crime scene together. They both enter the cab but Sherlock has still yet to have spoken a single word. When they arrive at 221B Sherlock exits first then he followed closely by John after he has paid the cabbie.

They both climb the stairs in silence and that continues until each occupant has stepped foot into their beloved home. Sherlock turns slowly to John with lugubrious eyes before asking, "What's wrong with me? What have I done? I've only ever been myself, isn't that good enough? Why do so many people hate me?"

John's heart clenches in his chest for his belittled soulmate. He steps forward and wraps his arms around the detective's slim waist before burying his head in his chest. "There's nothing wrong with you love. People will belittle the unique and beautiful because they feel intimidated or inferior to someone else. To make themselves appear big, they will crush and stop the brightest stars until they can't shine. You are the brightest star there ever was. They feel intimidated by you so they try to make you feel like you aren't worth anything, but you are the most valuable person I know. The world would be so dark without you and I would be so lost and lonely with you gone. You have given me so much and I owe you everything. I love you and many others do as well. We know you are wonderful just the way you are."

Sherlock's eyes have welled up throughout John's little speech and when he replies it sounds broken and croaky, "I don't deserve you John. I don't know what I've done to deserve this chance with you but I'm glad I've been given it. I will try my best to earn it."

"You don't earn it. You can't. I don't love you for some small iota of worth. I don't suffer through your flaws but I won't pretend you don't have any. We both aren't perfect but we are perfect for each other. I love you, dark moods and all. That's all that really matters in the end." When John finishes, he reaches up and wipes away the tears falling from verdigris eyes, gives him a kiss, and then pulls Sherlock closer until they fit snugly together, hugging and cuddling closely.

"I love you too." A pair of thin lanky arms encircle the bloggers frame, holding just as tightly onto his soulmate and love. Without moving out of the comfortable embrace, John looks up at the towering detective before smiling and saying, "Now, enough worrying. We have a wedding to plan!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: First off the 1: Mímir is the Norse god of Wisdom. If you want to know more about him, look him up. I'm too lazy to put more of a description about him on here lol. :) Okay, Future plans for Anderson and Donovan...I personally don't like either character. Not because they are pointless. Both characters add something to the story, but the problem I have with them is that before the fall. They were horrible! I know Anderson's gotten better but, I have difficulties with both. I plan though to make both character's nicer due to the fact that after the fall, they are kinder (I'm not really making this season 3 compatible, but I will have some references about it. I might somehow incorperate Sherlock's best man speech, because let's be honest, that was adorable. I currently don't have time to write the reviews but tomorrow, when I have time, I will post my answers to your reviews :D Stay tuned!


	14. How do You Propose?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs some advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), Unbeta'd, I'm not British, Bullying Mentions of drug abuse, AU
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: QueenLadyAnne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice and the wonderful Ariane DeVere for posting the transcript (Link here: http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/65379.html )

* * *

Most people would have assumed, when hearing the wonderful news, that John was the one that had proposed but they would, of course, have been wrong. Sherlock had been thinking about this for a few months, and when he was injured he had had plenty of time to formalize the thoughts into some semblance of order. _'As soon as I get out of this insufferable hospital, I've got some plans to make.'_

The four weeks have been terribly **LONG** but, not unproductive. The first two weeks while John was away at the surgery, were spent furiously trying to find the perfect way to propose to his extraordinary blogger. He knew that he was an uneasy man to live with and wanted to make this the best he could so that his lovely doctor would say yes.

He began by searching the internet on **'How to Propose to Someone'** (on his own computer, it wouldn't do for John to become aware of Sherlock's plans before he could implement them) but he had come up empty handed. The websites were decidedly unhelpful. All they had to suggest were plebeian, boring things that made Sherlock feel as though his brain were leaking through his ears. He finally swallowed his pride and asked Mycroft for help which he would only ever do for John.

**Sent To: Mycroft Holmes, 6:08 p.m.**

_I need your help. -SH_

 

**Message Received From Mycroft Holmes, 6:09 p.m.**

_I will assist you any way I can, brother dear. -MH_

 

**Sent To: Mycroft Holmes, 6:11 p.m.**

_Meet me at 221 B Baker Street tomorrow at 5:34 p.m. -SH_

 

**Message Received From Mycroft Holmes, 6:12 p.m.**

_I assume Doctor Watson will be away. -MH_

 

Since it wasn't a question, Mycroft obviously knew the answer anyway, Sherlock didn't reply. John would return any moment now so he had to quickly wipe all traces of today's activities in case John happened to stumble across his browser history. Now all Sherlock had to do was gauge John's reaction to marriage. Would he even be amenable to being Sherlock's husband?

Once that was completed, Sherlock carefully flops down onto the couch, places his hands under his chin in a prayer-like fashion and closes his eyes. When he is in position, the door then opens to reveal a tired looking John behind it.

"Hello love, how was your day?"

"Bored." John's answering chuckle makes Sherlock smile. He can hear the army doctor bumping about in the kitchen. When he has collected his tea mug, John walks over to the couch, leans forward, and presses a lingering kiss against soft cupid bowed lips. A hum of approval escapes both individuals. When the two separate, Sherlock's eyes flutter open and he sits up to allow John to snuggle into his side. When both doctor and detective have settled, John turns on the telly.

A trite "Soap Opera" (Which didn't make sense. The only thing the show had anything to do with bathing would be the 'smutty' shower scene and the only reason Sherlock had known that word would be because John had said it once before.) was on. Besides the holey and repetitive plot-line, the obsessive fascination to sex ( _'Someone seems to be compensating for something!'_ Sherlock thinks with a smirk), and the overly dramatic actors, the show didn't have much going for it. The only thing Sherlock found the least bit entertaining would be the horrid acting. The way the leading actress threw herself at any man with male genitalia was quite hilarious. Sherlock gets the opportunity he was hoping for when the ditzy blonde woman, who was pregnant with the leading man's child and was cheating on her current boyfriend, gets proposed to her by said idiotic boyfriend.

Sherlock subtly looks down at his blogger but can't read anything in his neutral expression. He snorts in disgust in an attempt to draw a reaction out of the army doctor. John looks up just as the blonde and her ditzy boyfriend kiss. "You say something, love?"

Sherlock snorts again and mumbles, "No, just...marriage." John blinks up Sherlock when continues, "A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world."

John then scrambles up staring wide eyed at his detective as he stutters out, "But...but, what if we were to get married? Would that ever be something that you would want?"

Sherlock joyfully thinks to himself, ' _Oh! It's Christmas!_ 'He says instead though, "I doubt I'd ever get married. The promise of forever is just a delusional attempt to strengthen a promise that many individuals do not intend to keep."

The blogger blinks up at the detective for a moment before standing, knocking Sherlock off balance, and saying, "I think I'll sleep in my own room tonight." Sherlock stands too, stretching before saying, "I'll come with you. I've not slept in… three days? That sounds right... After about 30 hours pass, the time spent awake becomes a bit hazy." John had taken a few steps before rounding on the detective that was following closely behind him before furiously proclaiming, "You sleep in your **OWN** room!"

With that, the saddened army doctor stomps up the remaining steps and then slams his room's door behind him. The consulting detective watches him go and his brow furrows only momentarily before he jump up into the air in a fist bumping motion. That of course jostles his stitches and when his feet touch the ground once more, he winces at the slight discomfort. He quickly goes over and retrieves his phone before texting his older brother in order to ask if he wouldn't mind picking him up tonight so that they might talk.

 

**Message Received From Mycroft Holmes, 7:53**

_A car has been sent and it will be there shortly. -MH_

 

Sherlock only had to wait for about ten minutes before another text was received, telling him that the car was parked outside. Sherlock grabs his coat and trade-mark scarf before making his way to the door. There, he hesitates only momentarily before calling up the stairs to John room informing him that he would be back shortly. When no reply came, he was out the door thundering down the stairs before slamming the other door on the ground level. He was in the car his brother had sent him in only a matter of minutes. This is one of the only few times Sherlock can remember being thrilled to see his brother.

When the car has stopped outside of the Diogenes Club Sherlock quickly makes his way to the back room in which his brother occupies. Once they are completely alone, Sherlock begins to speak, "I wish to marry John." Mycroft's ever smug expression slips only momentarily into one of confusion before it is firmly back in place when he replies with, "Of course, brother. Congratulations….What does any of this have to do with me?"

* * *

John heard the front door slam so he knew he was finally alone. He slowly exhales and let's wave of disappointment settle over him. He knows he shouldn't be upset but he can still recall that eight year old little boy who had dreamt of a country home, a gorgeous husband, and possibly two adopted children. The husband fantasy now seems to be out and no adoption agency would ever take two unmarried blokes seriously if they had even tried to broach the subject of adoption.

When he was younger, though, he had never really pictured the life he was living now… Now was excitement, staying up late at night going of case files, chasing suspects till four in the morning, and now was loving a moody consulting detective who pouted when he didn't get his way.

In John's personal opinion, Now was a lot better than Then. He couldn't possibly imagine his life any other way. He was happy to have Sherlock in his life. The genius was a total pain in the arse at times but without Sherlock, his life would be so meaningless. When the consulting detective had left the first time, John had been so heart broken and alone. No, Sherlock might not want marriage or children, but John wouldn't change him for anything in the world. Sherlock was his and he was Sherlock's. The blogger would take the detective any way he could get. He had never really thought that Sherlock would ever let anyone in, let alone love him. John falls asleep then with a smile on his face.

* * *

"I don't know how to propose to John."

Mycroft finally lets the all-knowing facade fall away and lets the confusion consume his facial expression. "And you think I do?!"

"You are married to your threadmate, how did you do it?"

"I took Gregory out to our favorite restaurant, treated him to anything he could want, and proposed. He said yes." All of this was said with an abnormally fond smile from Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock sat for a moment but shook his head furiously, "No, that won't do, John and I visit Angelo's regularly. I want this to be special." Mycroft looks at his younger brother before saying, "This actually means something to you. Why do you care so much? You've never gotten involved with this sort of thing before."

Sherlock's shoulders visibly deflate and his eyes cast downward. When he does reply it's in a quiet hesitant tone, "I never thought I would have a soulmate. When I had found John, though, I had given up. I knew I was doomed to never find love and that I would always be alone. He had tried to court me on our first case together but I didn't want anyone, at the time, who wasn't my soulmate. Soon all that had changed and I found myself reluctantly in love with him. When we had found out that we are threadmates it no longer mattered, it just added to the love I already possessed. I constantly worry that he will find someone better. I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet, yet John loves me anyway. I don't deserve him. I've put him through so much. I just want this to be good for him. I just want to do one good thing for him after all the damage I've caused."

If Mycroft hadn't seen Sherlock's depreciated demeanor he would have accused Sherlock of trying to deceive him, but here before him was the once proud consulting detective finally learning to bare his heart and let others in. Mycroft might have been known as the iceman but his heart was not cold and unused. He would never tease his younger brother when he knew it was something truly important to him.

"The place does not matter. It's the sentiment behind it. Is there anywhere you can think of that has some significant value?" With the eldest Holmes words, Sherlock's eyes widen and he jumps up racing around the room gathering his coat and scarf. He then turns to the British government and says, "I've got the place! I'll need your help getting everything in order...will you….I mean…. would you want to-"

"Yes, brother. Text me the details." Sherlock rushes forward and envelopes his older brother in a brief, out of character, hug while saying, "Thank you." before dashing out of the room and back into the car his brother had sent. Mycroft only smiles and exits the way he came.

* * *

Sherlock enters 221B with a flourish of his coat and a dramatic entrance. Only….he has no audience. ' _Where is John_?' The consulting detective then remembers the hurt look on John's face as he storms up the stairs into his own room. Sherlock pauses for a moment before meekly walking over to the foot of the stairs and quietly calling up, "John?" He waits a moment before asking, "Are you still mad?" He takes a step up when there is no reply. "Can I come up there with you?" He takes another step, "If I can't come up, say so... **now**." When there is still no reply he silently walks up the remaining stairs and gently opens the blogger 's door.

When he sees John sleeping on the bed, he pauses momentarily to smile at his adorable sleeping blogger. He efficiently strips down to only his underwear until he can proceed to climb into the bed to cuddle around his small army doctor. John doesn't wake, but borrows into Sherlock's warmth with his face pressed against the detectives neck. It only takes a moment before the raven haired man joins his beloved blogger into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Mystrade because my friend likes the pairing and Mycroft needed a soul mate. I'm going to have to change the update day to "whenever I can" because my computer crashed and everything (EVERYTHING for Red) was deleted. I'm slowly getting everything back but it's taking a while. It usually takes me 3-4 days to write but now it is taking me longer due to the fact that I have to borrow someone else's computer. Fortunately (unfortunately?) There are only about two more chapters left and then Red will be over! If you all will stick with me, I have a series taking hold in my mind and it's begging to be written.


	15. Rings and Big Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has minor smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (M Rating now), beta'd now, I'm not British,
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: Anne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice!

When the doctor awoke the next morning, he was contentedly warm and felt as if he was swathed in a squid's constricting grasp. The soldier in him wanted to fight against the binding restraints but upon further inspection, John felt a warm breath against the nape of his neck and solid, lean arms wrapped around his middle. 'Sherlock,' the blogger thought with a soft smile.

Since the two were pressed so closely together, head to toe, John felt a...firm persistent, pressure... against the cleft of his buttocks. His eyebrows raise to his hairline, until they are no longer seen, and he shifts minutely to speak to the sleeping sleuth but his movements provide stimulus against Sherlock's straining erection. The answering near-silent moan arouses and surprises the blogger and that feeling amplifies when a whispered "John," escapes from the detective's lips.

John's conscience comes into play as he remembers that no, they haven't talked about this and that the detective is currently asleep. With a mournful glance at his own raging hard-on, John places his hands on the arms wrapped around his waist and tries to shake the aroused sleuth awake, "Sherlock."

Sherlock seems to take this as encouragement and begins to undulate slowly against his soul mate. John can feel Sherlock's clothed erection push the fabric of his own pants between his cheeks and it rubs tantalizingly against his entrance. This does nothing for John's libido and his resistance begins to wane. He allows one hand to wander down to his own tented shorts and he begins to slowly stroke his aching length. "John!" Another moaning sigh comes from the, usually composed, detective in gasping pants. This snaps the blogger out of his own reverie until he redoubles his efforts in waking his soulmate.

"Sherlock! Love, wake up!" The snoozing consulting detective instantly stills and the arms around John's waist disappear. When the good doctor can finally turn around, Sherlock has sat up, a faint blush has spread across his high cheekbones, and he refuses to look at John. "I-I'm sorry John. I shouldn't have done that." The embarrassed detective slowly makes his way up and then turns to leave until John reaches an arm out and drags him back into bed.

When Sherlock sits back down, he quickly grabs a pillow and places it over his groin. When he has settled, John then proceeds to calm his flustered soul mate, "It's alright, love. It's a natural reaction. I'm glad I can make you feel good. Would you like some help with that? We would have to be careful. You haven't healed fully yet." The detective's face darkens into a deeper shade of red that seeps down his long neck and onto his chest. The army doctor gets a little distracted and is only draw out of blatant staring by Sherlock's stuttering reply of, "I-I don't know what to do John. I've never done this before and I'm not sure I'm ready to-to..."

"Love, it's fine. It's all fine. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do." Sherlock looks at John skeptically for a moment before he slowly nods his head in acceptance. The ebony haired man climbs back to his original position beside John. The detective leans forward hesitantly and places a gentle kiss against his bondmate's lips. Sherlock allows the kiss to deepen for a moment before pulling away to say, "I think- I want- you to touch me, John."

John places his hands on Sherlock's waist and draws his soulmate into a passionate kiss. Teeth nip at lips and tongues map out the contours of each others mouths. Hands begin to roam and each lingering press draws the two lovers closer together. The detective soon finds himself straddling John's strong thighs and gazing into a pair of dilated pupils. The embarrassed man from before seems to be long gone as he presses nipping kisses against John's neck.

John's hands soon move upward until he can bury them in ebony curls to draw the man above him in a sensual kiss. The observant man then moans when John's questing hands make their way downward to land on the Sherlock's backside which he gently squeezes. Long violinist fingers trace down a toned chest and continue their exploratory quest downward until Sherlock's skilled hands began fiddling with the waistband of John's pants. The kiss is broken once more as John looks searchingly at his threadmate as if to ask one last time, _'Are you sure?'_ The detective places a gentle kiss against the doctors lips before withdrawing long enough to nod his head in affirmation. The doctor brings his hands up slowly to the detective's waistband and inches them downwards so that his member stands proud. He then allows Sherlock to do the same to him.

When both men are naked, Sherlock climbs back onto the bed and lays, on his side facing his soulmate. John turns to his side and places a warm hand on Sherlock's hip in which he uses to draw the irresistible detective in for another passionate kiss. Both men gasp when warm skin touches warm skin. The clever army doctor hand slowly reaches down to the sleuth's aching member and slowly pumps up and down, using his precome to slicken the way. The detective's eyes flutter closed and, with a sinful moan, he thrusts his hips in time with John's smooth stokes.

After a few moments, when the blogger could no longer ignore his own needs, he grasps his own erection and strokes in time with his other hand. John's eyes flutter closed only briefly until he feels Sherlock's long fingers wrap around his own hand and they move in perfect synchronization. Soon heady gasps and moans fill the room. It takes the raven haired detective a few more strokes before the man reaches his climax, all the while moaning John's name.

As Sherlock lay, gasping for breath, recovering from his orgasm, John turns all his attention to his own erection. The sight of Sherlock's flushed face, gasping chest, and relaxed frame, bring John over the edge and he soon comes with a gasp of the detective's name.

Both men would have to agree that the first two weeks of Sherlock's recovery had been truly wonderful.

* * *

During the third week, to John's great displeasure, Sherlock was being extra unco-operative and irritating . The consulting detective would mope around the flat, lay on the couch, and stay on his laptop until ungodly hours muttering something to himself about rings and location (' _Drug ring locations? Must be something for a cold case.'_ Was John's guess.) But unbeknownst to the blogger, Sherlock was actually on a jeweler's website looking for engagement and wedding rings.

The sleuth suddenly looks up from his laptop and loudly declares that he needs his cellphone. When Sherlock doesn't move to get it himself John takes the hint and stands to retrieve Sherlock's phone, which lay right in front of him, but not before muttering something along the lines of, "Lazy sod," and a few insults that were said mostly said in adoration and good humor. When the detective and phone are reunited, long violinist fingers scroll through his contacts before clicking on one and a message is sent.

**Sent To: Mycroft Holmes, 12:32 p.m.**

_I know you have control over my trust fund due to past choices, but I have found the ring I wish to purchase for John. I will need a suitable amount of funds to obtain the rings. -SH_

**Message Received From Mycroft Holmes, 12:33 p.m.**

_Of course, dear brother. Since you are currently home-bound, would you be amenable to me getting the rings ordered? -MH_

**Sent To: Mycroft Holmes, 12:35 p.m.**

_That would be appreciated. I wish to fund the payments though. I want to do this for John. We had previously discussed the rest of the plan, would you be willing to set that up as well? -SH_

**Message Received From Mycroft Holmes, 12:36 p.m**

_Of course, brother. -MH_

Once that is settled, Sherlock then erases the conversation between himself and Mycroft and then sits the phone back on the table. A small smile pants itself across an angular face and only grows as he starts to think about all the plans he has made. John walks over to the happy detective and silently asks to sit down. When he is comfily sitting, the blogger draws the ebony haired man's head onto his lap and cards his fingers through the thick curls. "Not that I'm not pleased, but why are you smiling for?" Sherlock looks up into a pair of blue eyes, smile very evident in his voice, before saying, "My brother isn't always annoying. Sometimes he can be…very helpful."

* * *

When the rings do arrive, Sherlock receives a text from Mycroft that says he will be visiting sometime later that day. John is currently wrapped tightly around the excited detective and has yet to be roused. Sherlock slowly extracts himself from John's warm embrace and makes his way to the kitchen.

_'How can I get John to leave the flat for a little while?'_ The detective looks around the room and notices that they are almost out of John's favorite tea, so he walks over to the refrigerator and takes in account of how much milk they have. The carton is at least half full. _'That won't do.'_ He takes the carton over to the sink and pours out the rest of its contents. Once he is satisfied with his handy work, he throws it away and texts Mycroft the time of their meeting which would take place in an hour. When everything has been tidied and sorted, Sherlock waits in his mind palace until John decides to wake up.

Forty-five minutes later, the half-awake army doctor stumbles into the living room and blearily plants a sloppy kiss against the executive's lips. A half mumbled "G'morning" is spoken until John makes his way slowly into kitchen. Once there, the blogger begins the process of making tea, thus discovering the missing milk. "Sherlock, did you use _all_ of the milk?"

A small smile spreads across Sherlock's seemingly passive face until he wipes away all traces of emotion and responds in an indifferently with, "Experiment, John." The frustrated doctor mutters a few grumbled responses about having to constantly buy milk because a certain someone uses it all. John leaves his abandoned tea and instead stomps back up the stairs and into their shared room in order to change his clothes. When he comes back down the stairs, he utters an exasperated goodbye and then he was out the door on his way to the to the nearest the hour is up Mycroft arrives, as promised, bearing a pair of wedding rings along with the matching engagement rings. When Sherlock opens the box, the plain titanium bands gleam up at him.

Finding a wedding ring wasn't easy. The selection seemed to be limitless, but the raven haired man knew his soulmate preferences so it was at least easier to narrow down. He finally settled on the glistening band made from titanium because he knows John wouldn't something too flashy or ornate. The titanium band would clearly display John's marital status but wouldn't damage easily or dent when he was either running after Sherlock or in the surgery. Yes, the bands are perfect, but, _would John accept Sherlock's proposal?_

His concern must have shown on his face because Mycroft carefully asks, "What is it?" The detective stares at the British Government for a moment or two before slowly lowering his head again to stare at the rings in his hands and then proceeds to ask in a small voice, "What if he doesn't say yes?" Mycroft sees the man before him as he once remembered. The older brother can still picture the little boy who came knocking at his door one day, after school, because the other children were being cruel to him since he didn't have a soulmate. He can almost still hear the barely controlled sobs from said little boy who didn't quite understand why the other children bullied him daily.

Mycroft's carefully concealed features slowly collapse in a moment of sentiment and he answers in a soft voice like he did once before, "Caring isn't an advantage and I believed that I hadn't wanted my soulmate but I'm happy to be proven wrong. I didn't think Gregory would accept either. I know that I'm not a pleasant man to be around but Gregory loves me still." Mycroft pauses briefly to flash a small smile at his brother before continuing, "Sherlock, you have finally found your threadmate. John hasn't left your side. Even when he presumed you dead, he never stopped grieving. He won't leave you now. He will accept. " The younger man slowly smiles and envelopes his older brother in an uncharacteristic hug. Which leaves Mycroft gaping, unsure of where to place his hands, and stunned into silence. When Sherlock finally does withdrawal, he straightens to his full height and pronounces slowly and clearly, "We will never speak of this again."

The front door closes and both men's heads snap to the flat's entrance. Sherlock scrambles for a hiding place for the rings and finally stuffs them into the skull's eye sockets. The detective has just enough time to lay down on the couch before the flat door opens revealing the jumper clad doctor, arms heavy ladened with many bags of groceries. John nods his head in Mycroft's general direction, and then walks back into the kitchen to make another cup of tea. Mycroft then takes this as a cue to leave but not before cryptically saying, "Everything has been set into motion. When you are ready, the facility will be at your disposal." After a nod from the ebony haired man, Mycroft departs.

"I hope he isn't talking about a case. Greg knows you aren't allowed to leave yet! Doctor's orders." When the blogger has finished speaking, he sits down in his own chair and looks at his threadmate over the rim of his mug. Sherlock smirks slightly before replying, "No, I just wish to head down to the Morgue soon to run some tests. Molly has a few severed feet for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I'M NOT DEAD! I've just been SUPER busy! I've recently been in a play and it's all wrapped up now. The role was demanding, but fun. :D I have a tad bit more time to focus on the story now. I've just got to get my computer back now... :/ I've went up to the 'M' rating due to the slight smut at the beginning. It will get more detailed later on. And, I know I've promised proposal, proposal, proposal, but I know for a fact that the Proposal will be next chapter. For sure! The reason for my certainty is because this current chapter ends with a hint of what's to come :D. I've read a fanfic of a Proposal scene and a good friend of mine has lent me her location scene. I'll link it next chapter. :D I was going to write the proposal this chapter but, I got distracted by a gorgeous opportunity to lead up to a later chapter. :D


	16. The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are my heart, John. I don’t want to go back to the way my life was before you and now I know for certain that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” 
> 
> Sherlock then gets down on one knee and produces a small black box out of his suit pocket. “So, would you give me the honor of becoming my husband?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash , beta'd now, I'm not British, Fluff
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: QueenLadyAnne, my lovely Beta, who has stuck with me through thick and thin, and also to IBegToDreamAndDiffer for allowing me to use her marriage proposal setting . You are spectacular! (You can find it here: s/7798224/1/Sherlock-Platinum-On-Cobalt)

It took Sherlock another week to get John to allow Sherlock out of the flat in order to ‘see Molly’. When they are in the cab heading to St. Barts, Sherlock receives a text from his older brother.

 

**Message Received From: Mycroft Holmes, 6:54 p.m.**

_Everything has been prepared. -MH_

 

Sherlock keeps his face carefully blank as joy blooms within his chest but he allows his left hand to reach across the seat to grab John smaller hand in his own. The rings weigh heavily in his pocket and to himself from fiddling with the box, he traces the army doctor’s knuckles.

 

When the duo arrives at St. Barts, John slowly makes his way to the entrance. He has had bad experiences with this hospital and being here now brings them to his foremind. John shakes his head to dispel the dark thoughts circling in his mind and opens the door for Sherlock. As they make their way down to the morgue, Sherlock begins fidgeting and biting his lower lip due to his nerves. When questioned about his odd behavior, Sherlock would only reply vaguely.

 

Both men stop outside the morgue’s doors when Sherlock gently reaches out and tugs John’s arm, bringing them flush together. The detective brings one hand up and traces John’s cheek before leaning in to place a sweet kiss upon the blogger’s thinner lips. The loving pair withdraw and Sherlock whispers, “I love you, John.” The adoring army doctor’s face lights up and he hugs the sentimental sleuth closer until his head lays on the taller man’s chest. “I love you too.” The soulmates then withdraw and John turns to leave. Once again, long lanky fingers curl around the doctor’s bicep and tug him around so that he can peer up at the nervous detective. John’s brow furrows as he takes in Sherlock’s agitation and uncharacteristic uneasiness. When the detective begins to speak John expects the worst.

 

“What you are about to see may surprise and shock you. No matter how you decide to react will alter that fact that I care and love you deeply. Please remember that.” With that, Sherlock turns and opens the door for the fearful doctor. John steps in first but quickly freezes in his tracks as he sees what is laid out before him.

 

The cold, morgue equipment and tools have been removed and replaced by a medium sized table adorned with a scarlet table cloth, a lit candle, two chairs, Sherlock’s violin, and a music stand. John then turns to the tense consulting detective and beams happily as he throws his arms around his soul mate. “Sherlock, this is wonderful! Not that I’m not grateful, but what’s all this for?”

 

The sleuth straightens to his full height, turns his face slightly, and says in an air of feigned indifference, “I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of me.” John’s grin broadens and he stretches up on his tiptoes to place a lingering kiss against the detective’s smooth cheek. “Love, you didn’t have to do all this, but thank you anyway.” Sherlock only smiles and leads the besotted blogger to the table and sits him gently down. He goes over to his violin case to retrieve his beloved violin and draws the bow lightly across the strings. He tunes the pegs for a few seconds but then quickly sweeps John away in his beautiful melody.

 

Many people would assume that Sherlock is an emotionless machine, but if they could see him like this, they would quickly take back their words. When Sherlock plays his violin, it’s as if his heart is in what he plays and the tune always seems to depict his feelings, which he can convey better this way, than any words he could ever say. When the detective finally finishes the song, his devoted blogger has tears in his eyes and a grin upon his face. As the consulting detective replaces the violin in its case, John proceeds to stand and wrap his arms around Sherlock’s slim waist. “That was beautiful, love. Thank you for this evening.” They share a sweet kiss until Sherlock parts from his soulmate long enough to say, “The evening’s far from over.”

 

The detective gently pushes his love away and goes to retrieve two plates which are adorned with Angelo’s signature ravioli. He then retrieves an expensive looking bottle of wine which he pours into two tall glasses. Sherlock places this all on the table and then proceeds to take John’s hands and lead him over to the table. The nervous detective draws out the doctor’s chair and motions for him to sit down. Once the blogger has been seated, Sherlock goes over to his own chair, sits, and the pair begins to eat. The meal consisted of stolen glances, hushed tones, and short kisses which were initiated by both men.

 

As the evening closes, Sherlock seems to become even more restless than before. John’s concern only grows when the detective stutters out a reply when asked of his well being. When Sherlock nearly drops his fork for the fifth time, the concerned blogger demands to know what was going on. Sherlock’s shoulders slump slightly and his bottom lip protrudes into a small pout. When their eyes meet, the agitated sleuth sighs and goes to stand in front of his soulmate. He gently takes John’s hand in his own and traces the knuckles in his grasp.

 

“As you know, when I was growing up, I didn’t have a soulmate. My parents grew concerned when I didn’t present with a thread and many nights, I could hear them question each other what was wrong with me. By the time we had met, I had given up all hope that I had in ever finding anyone that would ever love me for me,” At this point Sherlock pauses briefly before continuing a little shackingly, “But then, out of nowhere, I met you. You’ve told me multiple times that I have saved you, but I don’t think you realize how much you have saved me. Without you, I would have given up long ago. I was living my life in a daze, I had no idea what I was missing. You are my heart, John. I don’t want to go back to the way my life was before you and now I know for certain that  I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Sherlock then gets down on one knee and produces a small black box out of his suit pocket. “So, would you give me the honour of becoming my husband?” The consulting detective opens the box and reveals the titanium band within.

 

The shocked blogger sits staring blankly at his devoted detective, but after several long moments of silence pass, and Sherlock still hasn’t received an answer, he slowly gets to his feet and begins withdrawing in on himself. The discouraged detective slowly mumbles out, “It’s alright John. We don’t have to get married. We can forget all about it and---.” The loyal army doctor cuts his soulmate off by grabbing him by his hand and tugging him down onto his lap. Their foreheads touch and John, softly smiling, whispers against his threadmate’s lips, “Yes. You mad berk. Yes.” Sherlock doesn’t know who’s crying, but when the pair kiss, it’s watery and interrupted periodically with beaming smiles and small laughs of pure euphoria. After taking a cab back to Baker Street, the pair fall into bed together kissing languidly (which are broken just long enough to whisper terms of endearment between the infatuated pair before they come together again for another loving embrace).  Soon eyes grow heavy and the couple is snuggled closely together, sharing air and contented smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I'm so late in posting! I've been going through a lot recently and fortunately, I've just got out of school. Thank you for being patient with me. I'm already working on chapter 17. I hope that I can get it up soon. I hope you like it!


	17. Swan or Sydney Opera House?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John plan their reception party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British, 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: Anne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice.

John and Sherlock had both come to the obvious conclusion that they would be married at the Register’s office and that they would have a small wedding reception afterwards. They were both very private people and Sherlock even more so. The detective didn’t like very many people to touch him, let alone, tolerate their presence during such a special occasion.  

 

John had come up with the idea to separate and write down individually who they would like to attend. So, the consulting detective and blogger each sat down in their separate rooms and began writing. John, being a likable person, had several people he wanted there. So he had written down: his mother, Harry, a few of his cousins, Sarah, Greg, and several army mates, including James Sholto (his former commander). However, since the consulting detective had only John Watson as a friend, his list consisted of his brother, Mrs. Hudson (which they had both agreed that she was like a mother to both of them anyway), Angelo, Molly, and Mike. 

 

When John had read the last name, he looked at Sherlock quizzically before asking, “Mike. Why Mike?” The consulting detective’s face turns a light pick until the vision is obscured when Sherlock turns his head away. After a moment or two in hesitation he murmurs, “The probability of finding ones threadmate is 1 out of 10,000 people. If Mike Stamford hadn’t introduced us, I may never have met you.  Which is obviously irrational. Every individual makes their own decision. ‘Fate’ and ‘destiny’ do not determine the outcome of events. Who’s to say that you and I wouldn’t have met some other way? Still….when I think about it, I am plagued with a feeling of sheer terror at the possibility that I would never have met you. Irrational as it is, I am very grateful that I wasn’t being a complete arse to Mike that day and that he stopped to listen to me complain about needing a flatmate, therefore, I would like Mike to come.”

  
  


John looked at his blushing threadmate with undisguised fondness and love. Since Sherlock was staring pointedly at the ground, he saw none of this nor had he seen John’s hand come up to wrap around his neck to pull him down for an amorous kiss. When they part for air, two pairs of eyes flutter open and each face has a matching besotted grin settled firmly into their features. That, of course, was the exact moment Lestrade called with the Andrew’s murder. They smiled affectionately at each other before the pair runs off to catch the bad guys thus leaving the guest list unattended for the time being.

 

After the murder had been solved, the list was picked up again and scrutinized over. John soon realizes that he is in way over his head. He has been looking up, ‘ Wedding reception, centerpieces, and decorations’  but so far, the websites have been decidedly unhelpful. The blogger shuts his laptop in exasperation and huffs out an irritated sigh, ‘ Planning a party is hard,’  The vexed doctor thought sullenly to himself. He holds in his hands their guest list which currently consisted of 30 people (not including the witnesses), but now he is most decidedly stuck. Feeling out of his depth, John walks into the kitchen to make a soothing cup of tea.

 

Whilst there, he runs into his love sitting at the kitchen table, performing yet another one of his experiments. John, in passing, places a lingering kiss against Sherlock’s ebony curls. The detective tilts his head up and captures the doctor’s lips with his own. When they part for air, Sherlock opens his eyes, face displaying a soft, small smile, and instantly deduces John’s dilemma. “You are having difficulties with planning the reception.” The vexed blogger sighs in exasperation and nods his head. His genius threadmate slowly exhales and inquires, “Swan or Sydney Opera House?”

 

* * *

“We have an appointment at Spencer Hart’s at 11:30 a.m today. I’ve announced our union to the public, and I’ve informed the register’s office yesterday of our intentions to wed. After 15 days have elapsed, we may form a civil union.” Sherlock states. John stares at his beloved soulmate with a mixture of awe and devotion and draws him down into a searing kiss. When they draw apart, the loving doctor drags the consulting detective out the door in order to get to their appointment.

 

After they go to get fitted for their tuxes, the army doctor and consulting detective cuddle together of the sofa. Sherlock’s head rests in his doctor’s lap and John’s fingers run through ebony curls. That is how Mycroft finds them when he arrives at Baker Street.

 

The British Government, out of view of the good doctor and his little brother, allowed a small smile to spread across his face for a few minutes until he carefully wipes it clean into a mask of neutrality. He pointedly clears his throat and two heads peer up at him. “Ah, gentlemen, there you are! Now, shall we discuss the reception?”

 

Mycroft then opens an official looking binder and moves to sit across from the soulmates. “When will this all take place? Have you thought of a date?” Sherlock begrudgingly sits up from his comfortable position to pointedly leer at his older brother and say, “I’ve taken care of everything. We pick up our tuxes in two days, I’ve phoned the King’s Cross and I’ve booked the reception area. The food has been accounted for. Everything is ready, so stop wasting our time!” The room remains quiet for a moment before Mycroft sneers, “Now, brother really, is that anyway to talk? I’ve come to offer my assistance. Nothing more.” The consulting detective glares at his brother and says, “Piss Off!”

 

As the consulting detective goes to make a witty retort John cuts them off with a pointed look and an exclamation of, “Children, please!” Sherlock pouts firmly and then glares at his older brother while Mycroft seems to be unaffected. “I think we’ve got it under control, Mycroft, thanks.” John says with a wary smile. Mycroft opens his mouth to have the last say in the matter until Sherlock quickly exclaims, “Before you  go,  Mycroft, there is something I would like to inform you of.” The loyal army doctor looks at his mate questioningly until Sherlock gently and reassuringly takes his threadmate’s hand in his own and runs his thumb across the doctor’s worn hand. 

 

Mycroft looks at his brother thoughtfully and nods his head in acceptance. The British government then begins gathering his things, and beckons his brother with an incline of his head. Sherlock stands and follows his brother out of the flat and down the stairs. When they reaches the landing, Sherlock has caught up with his eldest brother in order to discuss private matters. The consulting detective, mindful of John’s presence  in the flat above, whispers, “I am going to make a speech at the reception.” 

 

The British government looks at his younger brother for a moment, nods his head, and replies, “I will notify Gregory. After the telegrams have been read, you will be able to say what you need to say.” Sherlock nods his head in gratitude and they part ways. 

 

When the amateur detective enters the flat once more his soulmate asks, “So.. what was that about?” Sherlock only smiles,  tugs his threadmate into a warm hug, and replies, “It was nothing of importance. I was just reminding Mycroft of how much of an annoying git he is.” John lets out a small laugh and kisses his threadmate’s forehead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: It's taken me forever but here it is! I hope you like it! My Beta was having computer troubles and I had to do a quick look through myself, so if you see any mistakes, they are mine. Don't be shy, point them out! :D Chapter 18 is in the works. 18 will be wedding and the rating will most likely go up.


	18. Not According to Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have a Stag Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British,
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: Anne, my lovely Beta, who keeps reassuring me and giving me wonderful advice and Ariane DeVere (located here: http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/45111.html) for writing transcripts. You Rock!!

The two nights before the besotted two were to wed, Lestrade arrives at Baker Street to inform the pair that he would be taking them out for a "stag night" later that evening. Sherlock wasn't particularly sure what that was, but he already knew he wouldn't like it but John, however, was very excited about the prospect of a boys night out. When Gregory left, the consulting detective begins researching what a "stag night" entails. He doesn’t like what he saw. Thus, Sherlock decides to voice his concerns to his blogger.

 

"John, I don't see why we have to go."

 

Said blogger heaves a put upon sigh and takes two mugs down for tea. "Sherlock, I've already told you that you do not have to go. I'm not going to make you go." The amateur detective goes into the kitchen, stands beside his threadmate, crosses his arms, and pouts. "I just don't see the point in getting utterly sloshed to have a good time. Nor do I understand the idea of hiring some exotic dancer to entertain us for the evening."

 

There must have been something in the way Sherlock said that last sentence because John stops his tea making process completely and turns to look at his soulmate. "Is that what this is all about?" The ebony haired genius stares pointedly at the corner of the room and refuses to look at his threadmate as he whispers, "Don't you miss it?"

 

John's brow furrows in obvious concern as he places the mugs softly down on the counter to stand in front of his threadmate. “Love, look at me... Miss what exactly?”  When the consulting detective finally submitted to his threadmate’s request, his angular face held an expression of nonchalance but the blogger could see through the mask, and he could read the underlying nervousness hidden there. “Don’t you miss the freedom?” There’s a moment of stunned silence until the army doctor opens his mouth to speak but his threadmate cuts him off, “You’ve always dated people without any commitments and now you’re getting married to an unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole. It’s no contest, really.”   
  


After a moment of thought John declares, “You’re absolutely right. There is no contest.” Although when the blogger had spoken these words, his soulmate flinches, visibly places an uncaring mask upon his angular face, and forcibly refuses to meet John’s gaze before quietly saying, “I understand.”  
  


As the detective goes to draw away, John wraps his arms around the slim waist in front of him and rests his head against his firm chest, “There’s no contest because I didn’t feel anything for any of those people. I love **you**. I **didn’t** love any of them. Yes, you are all of those things, but I’m not going anywhere. I know how you are and I love you because of them, not despite of them.”

 

When the besotted blogger finishes, he leans up to press a sweet kiss against the detective’s plush lips. The amateur sleuth returns the kiss and after a moment gently whispers against his doctor’s mouth, “I love you too, John.”  
  


John brightly smiles up at his love as he says, “Good! Now that that’s settled… Shall I call Lestrade?”

 

Sherlock can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he rolls his eyes, and after a moment, nods his head. John retrieves his mobile out of his pocket, and with a brilliant smiled aimed at his detective, he dials Greg’s number. As the conversation ends, the blogger and detective go to get ready for the evening ahead.   
  
Sherlock has no idea what to expect from the evening, so he puts on his tight purple shirt and tailored, black trousers. John, on the other hand, wears a black, well-fitted shirt that shows off his still defined muscles and a pair of nice jeans. When the doctor and detective present what they are wearing to the other, two pairs of eyes dilate while mentally undressing the other and a shared gasp is uttered. John is the first to speak as he breathlessly says, “God, love. You look gorgeous.” When Sherlock hears the way his blogger speaks these words, he blushes and says, “Thank you, John. You look very handsome.”

  
The blogger pulls his threadmate into a slowly kiss, which quickly becomes heated as tongues slide together in an erotic dance. As things begin to get heated, the enamored pair hears a knock on the door. The kisses slow down and become languid until they place loving kisses once, twice, three times until John pulls away to check the door. Just before the army doctor can open the threshold, Sherlock takes a small step forward and asks, in a very hesitant voice, “Later?” John’s answers with a quick nod and a stunning smile.   
  
When the door finally opens, Lestrade come barreling in with a seemingly, newfound energy as he boisterously proclaims, “So, chaps, I hope you’re ready for a night out because I plan to give you a night to remember!” Lestrade’s energetic smile quickly becomes contagious as it spreads to John’s face. The loyal blogger looks up at his threadmate and joyfully declares, “Allons-y!”

 

Briefly, a surprised look crosses the detective’s face at the unexpected French terminology, but the expression quickly passes as Sherlock fondly rolls his eyes, grabs his coat and scarf, and follows the D.I. and his beautiful threadmate.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When the trio finally reaches a nightclub, Sherlock’s mouth slightly turns up on the corners because the thought of dancing with John is incredibly appealing. As they enter in, the first thing the Detective Inspector does is head straight to the bar. John chuckles and grabs Sherlock’s hand to drag him to a booth near the edge of the dance floor. Once there, they slide in to wait for Greg to return. After a moment or two of internal debate, Sherlock stands and asks if John would care to dance.

 

The grin from before returns to the bloggers face as he nods his acceptance. When they reach the dance floor, the ebony genius slots their legs together and grabs his soulmate’s hands and places them on his hips. Sherlock rhythmically rocks against his loving doctor along with the songs slow beat.

 

John has never seen anything as sexy as the man currently grinding his hip into the blogger’s thigh. After a moment of brief hesitation, John undulates his hips in time with the music; it becomes evident that the mutual stimulation burns a slow build of arousal through the thredmates’ veins. When the song ends both men are panting and each need a moment to adjust themselves.

 

Greg soon finds the pair and drags them back to the booth in order to enjoy a round of pints. The soon to be wedded couple sit closely together, breathing the other’s air, and basking in the ability to be close. Whispered sentiments from the connected pair reach the D.I.’s ears and when Lestrade realizes that he won’t be heard in his attempts to initiate small talk, he smiles fondly and says something along the lines of retrieving more pints.

 

The evening carries on like that for a couple of hours more, and after another bout of dancing, John excuses himself to the loo to ‘take the edge off.’ Greg, at this point, is intoxicated and is boisterously singing along to some upbeat song. Sherlock walks up to the bar to escape the close proximity of the dance floor. Behind him, he hears a voice he had hoped he would never hear again. “Sherlock Holmes!” Sherlock instantly freezes and his eyes instantly close. “Hello, Sebastian.” Sebastian’s smile is all teeth and predatorily as he says, “Howdy, buddy. How long’s it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?”

 

When John exits the restroom, he quickly finds his lanky detective standing near the bar with a man he has never seen before. He notices Sherlock’s guarded expression and instantly, John goes into soldier mode. As he slowly makes his way to his beloved, he can hear snippets of the conversation. Words and phrases like, “Soulmate”, “Thought you were threadless”, and “Mate must be a freak!” quickly reach his ears. The soldier balks at such degrading words and he squares his shoulders. When he reaches his detective and the imposing man in front of him, he clears his throat and stares pointedly at the offending man.

 

Sherlock’s face briefly morphs into an expression of sheer relief when he sees his loving threadmate, but he tampers that down to say, “Sebastian, this is my _threadmate_ , John.”

The terrible man snickers and says in a condescending way, “Threadmate?” The soldier stares at the man squarely and replies, “Colleague.” The fragile genius drops his gaze to the floor to hide the brief flash of pain that crosses his face. The moment passes quickly, but not before John sees the look.

 

Wilkes looks at the amateur detective and laughs, “See! I was right.” John purses his lips as Sebastian continues, “We were at Uni together. Had this trick he used to do. He could take one look at you and know whom you had slept with and what you had for breakfast.” Sherlock, eyes still downcast, quietly murmurs, “ It’s not a trick.” Sebastian carries on as if Sherlock never spoke: “We all thought he was threadless back then… Oh, you poor bloke. I fear what you must go through every day!”

 

John’s tramps down has anger as he calmly states, “Right… Well, we must be going. Come on, Sherlock.” Wilkes laughs and his reply is lost as the blogger and sleuth make their way through the crowded club. When they retrieve the intoxicated D.I. they exit the establishment and a familiar black car is waiting on the curb. As soon as they all get inside, the car takes off. Throughout the entire ride, John tries to talk to his love, but Sherlock only stares off into the distance in a trance. Greg, on the other hand would not shut up. When the ride finally ends for Sherlock and John, the sleuth exists quickly while the blogger talks to the chauffer.

 

When John finally makes his way up the stairs, Sherlock is seen sitting rigidly on the couch with his eyes staring pointedly at the floor. “Sherlock we need to--.”

 

“Is that all I am to you?” Something cold settles along John’s spine. Sherlock raises empty eyes toward the doctor, “A colleague?” To John’s horror, Sherlock’s eyes fill with tears. “They’ve told me all my life that I am nothing. I was told that I would never have anyone, that I would always be alone…but I had you. Now I see that they were right. How idiotic I’ve been.” Here, Sherlock blinks away his tears and he barks out a self-depreciative laugh. “How could I have been so blind?”

 

“Sherlock, no. That’s not--.”

 

“No, John. That’s exactly what it is.” Sherlock gets up to storm into his room, but John grabs his hand to stop him. “No, Sherlock. Listen to me! I love you dearly. I didn’t say anything to that bloody twit because….well, I didn’t want to embarrass you, love. I heard what he was saying to you. In all honesty, I’m terrified that you’ll wake up one day and realize how boring I am. I’m an old man. I have scars and I’m just a beast. I’m not as young as I used to be. One day, I won’t be able to chase after criminals or jump across roof tops. You shine like the stars. You’re brilliant and bright and beautiful. In comparison to you, love, I’m so dull. I often times wonder what you see in me.”

 

The tears have stopped, but Sherlock’s voice sounds hollow and distant. “I’m not like other people, John. I’m not good. I’m not kind. I say the wrong things. I’m a _freak_ , a machine. Sebastian’s right. You have to put up with a grown man who frequently acts like a child. It’s more than anyone should have to bear. I’m not good enough. You are good, decent, and kind. I will never be enough, John.”

 

“My love… No. Sebastian hasn’t changed the way I feel for you. I’m so sorry that I didn’t stand up for you. I made a disastrous decision and I will regret that for the rest of my life. You are first and foremost the most important thing in my life. You will always come first. I love you for you. That is what I was trying to convey to you this morning. I thought that keeping silent would have been more beneficial to you. I’m sorry you went to school with such ignorant pricks that could not see all of the beauty you posses. You are so good, Sherlock. I’m so proud of who you are and what you’ve survived through. You’ve come back to me and for that, I will be forever grateful. In all honesty, love, I don’t deserve you.”

 

At that, the ebony genius snaps his full, undivided attention to his soulmate, “How can you say that?” John takes cautious steps forward until he is standing right in front of Sherlock. “Because I am an idiot. You have given me your heart to look after and I have failed you time and time again. I didn’t realize what he had done to you. I didn’t know that he had made you feel that way and for that, I am so sorry. I truly do love you. You are my entire world. I never want to lose you.”

 

After what seems like an eternity to John, Sherlock’s eyes clear and they’ve lost the hollowed look from before. “Do you really mean that?”

 

“Always, love. I hope you’ll allow me to spend the rest of our lives proving that to you. I am truly sorry. I love you.” With that said, the army doctor lifts a hesitant hand toward Sherlock’s face and softly asks, “May I touch you Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock deduces his love’s earnestness. ‘ _Furrowed eyebrows, eyes opened wide, hand trembling, and eye contact.’_ Sherlock reads the sadness and regret John displays, but most of all, there is no falsehood. John means everything he says and he is desperately hoping that Sherlock will see that. The amateur detective’s heart had felt broken when his soulmate had denied their connection, but he now he sees what John was trying to do. John was only trying to protect Sherlock from someone the blogger perceived as a threat. With all of this in mind Sherlock makes a decision.

 

“Yes, John.”

 

The doctor released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding as he brings his hand up, the rest of the way, to rest on his detective’s cheek. Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed at the contact and he leans forward to place a soft kiss against his threadmate’s lips. When the brief contact is broken, Sherlock murmurs, “I love you too.” John’s entire body sags with relief. “Thank God! I thought I had lost you. I hope you can forgive me, love.”  
  
Sherlock draws the repentant blogger into a warm embrace and then rests his head on golden-grey hair, “You will never lose me. I understand what you were trying to do, and all is forgiven, but you must realize that _I_ had thought that I had lost _you_. You had denied our connection. I felt as though you agreed with what he said. Back in school, I was just the threadless freak. The threadless freak that was told that he wasn’t good enough for his mate. In that moment they were all right. I love you very deeply, John. I don’t want to lose you.”

 

Another wave of guilt envelops John as he blinks back tears, “I understand, love. I want you to understand something too…you will never, and I mean NEVER, lose me. I will always love you. That will never change. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” Sherlock nods, smiles, and places a loving kiss on his threadmate’s head.

 

The sleuth’s smile broadens as an idea pops into his head. He slowly extracts himself from the doctor’s loving embrace so that he can walk over to his IPod dock. He grabs the remote and presses play. When the music begins to softly play, the besotted ebony haired man walks over to his soulmate, smile spreading across his handsome face, and he gently grasps the doctor’s hands. “Our evening was cut short, but may I have this dance?”

 

An answering smile breaks across the bloggers face as he nods. John quickly finds himself swept away in his lover’s sure footwork. The night didn’t go according to plan, but John now realizes he didn’t need to go out to a club tonight. He was proud of the man he was with and he loved his beautiful threadmate with all his heart.

 

As if sensing his thoughts, Sherlock bows his head and whispers an, “I love you,” against his mate’s lips before gently capturing them with his own. This is what the night was missing. He didn’t need flashing lights, alcohol, or (to use Sherlock’s word) exotic dancers to have a good time. Being in their flat with the man he loved the most, was all the celebration John needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE! I'm so, so, so, so, so, sososososososososo Sorry! I've been gone for nearly a year! Are any of you still out there? I am terribly sorry, guys. :( If I may offer an excuse, I do have one... So, this past year was my senior year in high school. It was extremely hectic and crazy. I had to prepare myself for college. That was also time consuming and extremely tedious. For those who don't know, I was extremely depressed and suicidal for a long time. A friend of mine (who I happened to be in love with at the time) told me to go commit suicide (he knows that I have trouble with that, by the way), and it really, really set me back a lot. Between getting ready for college and being in emotional turmoil, my life has (to repeat the word) really, really hectic. I hope you all can forgive me! I love you all! I wrote a whole bunch for you all! I double my word count! I hope this helps in the forgiveness process? Anyway, on to the actual notes...
> 
> So, I know last chapter I said it would be wedding time... I lied a bit. I started thinking of how cool it would be to write in a Stag Night... The story began writing itself and I got swept away with a certain idea. Next chapter is definitely wedding (and possibly honeymoon). :)


	19. Speeches and Honeymoons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get married!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Johnlock slash (Rating could go up), beta'd now, I'm not British,
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
> 
> Special Thanks: Anne, my lovely Beta, who stuck with me until the very end. You have truly been exceptional!

The next morning, the sun shown lazily through the windows in Sherlock’s bedroom. After a long and emotionally taxing day, the two lovers fell into bed in an exhausted heap, but not before a loving kiss and whispered endearments. Now as the sun shines on John’s face, he blinks awake slowly. A besotted, happy grin spreads across his face as he takes in Sherlock’s relaxed and peaceful features.

 

As if sensing John’s eyes on him, Sherlock awakens with a groan and stretches his long limbs. When Sherlock finally lays eyes on his loving blogger, a slow smile spreads across the detective’s face. Sherlock’s voice is deep as he rumbles out, “Good morning, John.” The doctor leans forward and places a loving kiss against his threadmate’s mouth as he whispers a, “Good morning, my love.”

 

Sherlock smiles broadens and again captures his threadmate’s lips with his own. Sherlock’s voice get’s impossibly deeper as he says,“ You know, John, tomorrow we’ll be married.” John, who was half hard already, quickly hardens completely when these words are spoken. The amateur detective then quickly trails searing kisses to his cheek, down to his neck, across his chest (taking the time to kiss, lick, and suck at John’s nipples resulting in an answering gasp and moan from the aroused blogger). “I keep thinking about being yours forever and the fact that you’ll be mine.” The kisses continue down his abdomen and then the detective places sucking kisses on John’s hipbones. “Will you take me, John?” Sherlock places lingering kisses against John’s straining erection through the cotton, red pants, “Will you make love to me?”

 

The blogger groans out an, “Oh, God yes,” as Sherlock grips the waistband of John’s pants and tugs downward. Sherlock locks eyes with his beloved threadmate as he slowly slides John’s cock into his mouth. The good doctor gasps and slams his head against the pillows as inch by inch, his prick disappears into his soulmate’s mouth. The brilliant detective begins a slow rhythm up and down and on every upward glide, a clever tongue laves against the weeping slit, tasting the pre-cum that gathered there.

 

To keep from grabbing Sherlock’s luscious curls, John’s hands grasp the sheets at his waist. As Sherlock makes another slow descend downward, he doesn’t stop until his nose comes into contact with John’s golden pubic hair. After making eye contact with John again, he quickens his pace, sucking, licking, and reveling in the doctor’s delicious moans. “O-Oh, Sherlock. Love, I’m going to come…” At this, the amateur sleuth brings his hand up and lovingly fondles his mate’s testicles, and with one final hard suck, John comes undone by Sherlock’s clever hands and tongue.

 

When John can finally catch his breath, he finds his gorgeous mate quickly fisting his own aching erection. John’s sentences are broken up as he pants out, “Oh, my love. You look so beautiful… I can’t wait to make love to you. You’re so clever… Won’t you come for me? Please come for me, Sherlock.” With a skillful twist of his wrist, Sherlock moans out his own release.

 

“God, Sherlock. Where in the world did you learn that?!” The detective suddenly becomes bashful as he replies, “I’ve been practicing, John. Was that alright?” John giggles and gently takes his threadmate’s face in his hands and says between kisses, “Like it? Sherlock, love, that was incredibly sexy. I loved it and I love you.” Sherlock lets out a relieved sigh, “Good. I love you too, John.

 

“I’ll never get tired of hearing that.” John smiles briefly before diverting his eyes to ask, “Oh, by the way, do you have anything on today?” The detective tilts his head in consideration before saying, “No. I don’t think so. There are no cases on, the wedding details have been finalized, and I have no experiments in a critical state at this time.” Sherlock’s eyes narrow slightly, “Why?”

 

Under the detective’s scrutinizing gaze, John fidgets and drops his own gaze to the floor, “I just…want to make up for yesterday, love. I never meant to hurt you. I just love you so much and I never meant to make you feel as though I’m ashamed of you. I’m so proud of you. You’re so smart and generous and compassionate. You love me for me—scars and all—and I don’t deserve you, so I want to show you that you are my entire world.” John moves from his position on the bed and crawls over to his soulmate and straddles his thighs, “So, please, let me make this up to you, my love.” The good doctor kisses his detective sweetly, “Please let me show you how much I adore you.”

 

Sherlock whimpers and John kisses him deeply. “Fine, fine. Whatever you want, John, but shut up so I can kiss you again,” Sherlock gasps out against John’s mouth.  John grins and whispers into Sherlock’s ear, “With pleasure.”

 

* * *

  
  
The day was filled with all of Sherlock’s favorite things. John had called Molly ahead of time to procure an entire corpse for Sherlock’s experiments; he only had to pick it up later. When John told Sherlock this, his entire face lit up with excitement. He had so many experiments in mind for the decaying body. Next, they stopped by New Scotland Yard to pick up all the interesting cold case files. Due to Lestrade’s absence, Ms. Donavan spat freak whenever she was in earshot of the connected pair.  Just as John decided to say something to the hateful woman, Sherlock smiles at his threadmate, gives him a look that says, ‘ _Thank you’,_ and they make a silent decision to leave.

 

 As they leave Scotland Yard with the remaining case files, the detective stops in front of sergeant Donavan to whisper something to her. Sally’s mouth hangs open in shock as Sherlock straightens his coat and leaves. When John catches up to his mate, Sherlock beams down at him while taking the doctor’s smaller hand in his larger one. John looks up at his mate for a moment before hesitatingly asks, “So…what did you say to Donovan?”

 

Sherlock laughs and responds, “I told her she should stop wasting time on Anderson because he just found out he has a STD from, once again, cheating on his wife and he has given it to her. I told her since you were a doctor, you could direct her in some topical or oral medication. “ John stood for a moment looking utterly shocked until he tried, and failed, to look stern as he tries to hide his laughter, “Sherlock!” The devious detective places an angelic look on his face, “What’s the matter, John? I was only looking after a colleague’s well being!” Both men giggle at the blatant lie.

 

Sherlock magically produces a cab out of thin air to take them back to Baker Street. During their cab ride back, John retrieves a small wrapped gift out of his pocket and silently gives it to his soulmate. Sherlock takes the little box and turns it over in his hands, but before he can deduce what is inside, John smiles enduringly at his mate and tells him to: “Just open it already!” Inside the decorative paper, the amateur detective finds a box of his favorite microscope slides.

 

Sherlock smiles down at his mate and he sincerely states, “Thank you, John.” The besotted doctor leans forward and places a chaste, lingering kiss against his detective’s cheek, “You’re welcome. I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, after much cuddling and sweet kisses, a knock and mumbled conversation drifts up the stairs to 221B. Two sets of feet casually walk up the steps and behind the door, there’s a brief pause and a whispered argument until Sherlock audibly groans in annoyance and utters a petulant: “Mycroft.” The annoyed sleuth gets up from his cozy position beside John, takes several large steps, and throws open the front door. He takes one look at his older brother and Gregory and **knows** why they’re here.  “No,” Sherlock plainly states as he goes back to sit beside his confused threadmate.

 

The now agitated amateur detective sits beside his mate once more to envelope him in a possessive cuddle. Mycroft smirks at Sherlock’s futile efforts before declaring, “It’s tradition, Sherlock. The Holmes family has practiced this particular tradition for over 100 years. You can’t break it now.”

 

Sherlock, without relinquishing his hold on John, all but growls out, “I can and I will! I am not some blushing maiden. I don’t want to do it.” After this, the Holmes brothers wage a silent war that no one else seems to be privy to. John, having grown tired of the vague situation, states, “Now, hang on. What are you talking about, Mycroft? What the hell is going on?”

 

Greg finally steps forward with a sigh, “John, you apparently have to come with me. There’s this Holmes family tradition that states that a soulbonded couple getting married has to be separated the night before their wedding day. John looks shocked only before he grumbles out, “What the bloody hell for?”

 

The D.I. turns to the British government and sighs, “You see? I told you that they wouldn’t agree.” Mycroft smirks, “Oh, I knew that they wouldn’t agree, however, Sherlock should know that Mummy would be very disappointed if she knew that he broke tradition. We both know that we can’t let Mummy down. Plus, “ here Mycroft grins haughtily, “you owe me, Sherlock. We don’t want John to--.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes widen, “Yes, yes. You’ve made your point perfectly clea _r_. There’s no point in dragging John any further into all of this. Do shut up, Mycroft.” John opens his mouth to argue (that he _can_ take care of his self, _thank you_ ) until Mycroft cuts in: “Excellent! Now, Sherlock, go grab a few things, and then we will be off.” As Sherlock reluctantly goes to comply, John follows him into their bedroom.  
  
“What the hell is going on?!” He asks the detective as he packs away clothes while blatantly ignoring the blogger. Said blogger become irate and grabs his mate by the wrist, halting his movements. “Seriously, Sherlock. Why didn’t you say anything? What’s going on? Why do you have to leave?”

 

Without turning around, Sherlock states, “As much as it pains me to say, I owe Mycroft a favor. I was stupid to assume that he would do what I asked solely because it mattered so much to me. I am in debt to him, and normally, I would be able to refuse his demands, but I must pay this debt.”

 

John’s confusion only grows with these words and, growing steadily annoyed form being kept in the dark, he turns his mate around to look at the doctor. Sherlock’s demeanor has changed. His shoulders are slumped in defeat, and a small pout splays itself across cupid bowed lips: “I don’t want to be away, but Mycroft is right. I don’t want this any more than you do, but it’s only for one night.” Something behind the detective’s eyes shifts as he says, “I’ll see you in the morning…won’t I? You’ll be there, right?” The blogger would have laughed at the thought of being anywhere the detective wasn’t, but that all dies when John sees the vulnerable look hiding just below the surface. “Sherlock, I’ll be there. I’ll always be there when you need me. I love you,” John lovingly proclaims.

 

“I love you too.” Sherlock says as he smiles. They lovingly embrace. John sighs and looks up at his love with a soft smile, “It’s just one day, right? We can do this. I’ll see you tomorrow, love.”

 

The detective looks his soulmate with unmasked adoration and love as he replies, “Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.” They share one last kiss and separate. Sherlock squares his shoulders and walks back with John to the living room. Mycroft looks up and says, “Are you ready to go?” Sherlock tersely nods, turns to John, places a sweet kiss against his cheek, and then he is gone. Lestrade smiles at John apologetically, “I’m sorry, John. You know how the Holmeses can be.” John laughs, “Eh, that I do, and no worries. We can make it one night.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock and Mycroft retire at the government’s posh flat. For the first few hours they remained relatively silent. Sherlock lay on his brother’s couch in his signature thinking pose. Mycroft had just sat in his favorite chair with a piece of cake when the silence is finally broken.

 

The distressed amateur detective begins pacing and his words are rushed as he frantically lists out his worries to his older brother, “Myc, what if he changes his mind? What if he decides he doesn’t want to get married anymore?” Here he turns pained eyes, wide with fear, on the British government.

 

Mycroft now understands. His heart, that he was often told was inexistent, twinges painfully for his little brother as he remembers a younger Sherlock, barely the age of 8, tearfully question what was wrong with him, and why he didn’t have a red thread of his own. Perhaps that is why Mycroft stands and gently grabs Sherlock’s arm to comfort his little brother. The British government speaks softly as he says, “Brother mine, John loves you. He has loved you for a long time. I have seen it before you fell and every day after. Tomorrow, you will get married and he _will_ be there. You are his entire world. You must see that.”

 

Sherlock had. He saw it in the way John made him eat or sleep. He saw it when John looked at him and he felt it when they kissed. The ebony haired man blinks several times from the new information Mycroft gave him. When he finishes, he realizes he has let fear of losing John cloud his logic.

 

Sherlock’s face contorts into brief embarrassment from revealing so much to the other man. As he stutters out a reply he blushes under Mycroft’s uncharacteristic caring expression: “Um…Thank you… That thing you did was… um… good.” The care finally leaves from Mycroft’s face as a natural air settles along his facial expression. However, the British government can’t help but fondly squeeze his brother’s arm as he says, “Anytime, brother.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Greg, what if he changes his mind? I can’t lose him a second time. He is my everything. I can’t do it again,” John says frantically. The good D. I. smiles at the ludicrous statements leaving John’s mouth.

 

 Greg chuckles, “John, trust me, mate, you have nothing to worry about. Sherlock is different with you. We all can see it. He is so much happier with you around. Yes, he is still occasionally scathing, but it’s different when you’re there, you know? You make him a good man. He loves you with all he has.  Please tell me you’ve seen that.”

John feels instantly foolish, because, yes, he has. He sees it in the way Sherlock smiles his ‘just for John smile,’ or the way his eyes still light up after every ‘Extraordinary’ and, ‘Brilliant!’ He feels it when Sherlock looks earnestly at him to say, ‘I love you,’ or when they kiss. John smiles at this new realization: “You’re right, of course. I know he loves me. It’s really nice to know that someone else sees it too, though. Thanks, Greg.” The greying detective smiles as he says, “ Don’t mention it, mate.”

 

* * *

 

The morning dawns quickly and four men get ready for this important day. When each man has put on their special suits, Mycroft and Sherlock head down to Baker Street to pick up their separate threadmates. When the wedded pair sees the other, two sets of gasps can be heard.

 

In John and Sherlock’s shared opinion, they had never seen anyone more beautiful. The detective was wearing a fitted, black, bespoke suit, which clung to his skin in just the right ways. Underneath the black material lies a striking white shirt and deep purple vest, which was finished off with a matching purple bow tie. John, on the other hand, wore the same stylish black suit, a crisp white shirt, but with a bright blue vest along with his own matching bow tie. The soon to be wedded pair meet each other in the middle and embrace. John says into his threadmate’s chest, “I missed you very much.” Sherlock rests his head on top of the blogger’s sandy blond hair: “I did not anticipate the effect one day would have, but I must confess that I missed you, too.”

 

 When the pair withdraws, Sherlock’s bowtie was, once again, askew. The consulting detective’s face was set in a firm scowl as he moodily repositions his bowtie for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. “I hate these horrid things,” Sherlock grumbles. John walks up to his moody fiancé and gently places a chaste kiss against his cheek and whisper, “I think you look beautiful, love.”

 

The besotted ebony haired man blushes and brushes a kiss against John’s forehead, “Thank you, John. I think you look very handsome, too.” Mycroft, who has been looking at his watch throughout the soon to be wedded pair’s display of affection, decides, at this moment, to break up this adorable scene: “We have an appointment to keep, everyone. We must leave now if we are going to get there in time.”

 

The two pairs of threadmates each climb into one of Mycroft’s cars and then they are whisked away to the Register’s office. When they finally arrive, the four men walk into the building. The ceremony was performed by a civil Marriage Officer, a professional looking man with a kind smile, and after all the correct paper work was filed, the proceedings were finished off with a loving kiss shared by the enamored pair.

 

The red threads connecting the two mates glowed brilliantly, and in that moment, the enamored pair could almost feel the crimson chords solidifying. It was as if the pair could physically feel the connection between them, as if the chords were drawing the pair irrevocably together. When the moment ended, the feeling seemed to stay, to Sherlock’s surprise. Both men loved feeling that connection to the other.

 

After the two men were officially married, the four men make their way to Angelo’s for the Reception Party. Once there, Sherlock and John link hands and walk through the door to greet their friends and family. To the newly wedded couple, the applause that greeted them was near deafening. Matching grins appear across two faces as they look at each other with unmasked adoration and love.

 

Mummy Homes rose with an air of elegance as she greeted the newly weds with a warm smile: “Sherlock and John Watson-Holmes. Congratulations!” The answering smile on both men’s faces were genuine. The classy woman kisses her son on the cheek and moves to envelope John in a warm hug to whisper in his ear, “I’m so happy for you both. He has loved you for a long time, John. I’m so pleased to see it reciprocated.” John’s choked out reply conveys sincerity as he says, “Thank you Mrs. Holmes. I do love him too.”

 

As she withdraws from the elated doctor, she grabs the recently wedded pair’s hands and with tear filled eyes, she joyfully exclaims, “I’m no proud of you two. You’ve found your way together despite all the obstacles in your way. I wish you a life full of happiness and many years of love and laughter.”

 

Both men beam with pride as John says, “Thank you, Mrs. Holmes. I can happily say, that I don’t expect any less. Sherlock and John eventually move away to meet a few more well-wishers and after a few more loving hugs and claps on the back, the newly sit together at their signature table and everyone else files in around them. A waiter appears from the back to adorn the Watson-Holmes table with a single candle. John smiles and reaches across the table and takes his husband’s hand, “I am so happy that you’re mine. Thank you for today.”

 

The detective smiles at his blogger as he says, “I will always be yours. I have enjoyed today. I quite enjoy married life so far.” Sherlock leans forward and gently kisses his threadmate and when he withdrawals he whispers against his lips: “I love you.” John chuckles and plants another kiss against cupid bowed lips: “I love you too.”

 

The food is brought out and quickly devoured. Lestrade finds himself in front full of people to deliver his speech. Greg takes a deep breath and begins: “First of all, I want to congratulate Sherlock and John on their new marriage. We all knew, before your Red Threads appeared, that something was there between the two of you. Sherlock has always been a great man. The smartest guy in any room, the man with all the answers when no answer could be found, but with John Watson, he became more. They thrive together. They work flawlessly together. Sherlock fixed John, and John fixed Sherlock. They complete each other in a way that no one else could.”

 

Here Greg pauses for a moment and then says, “Many of you know that I’ve been a part of the Holmes family for a long time. I remember the first time I met Sherlock. He was a pompous git who read me in seconds. I will admit that I didn’t like him at first. But he has this ability to make you care about his well being despite all of that. He quickly became the brother I never knew I wanted.” Sherlock smiles and Lestrade continues, “John, when he met you I was so relieved. I thought to myself, ‘Finally, someone who understands,’ because no one outside of the Holmes family would try, but then you came limping in and I’ve never seen him happier.”

 

Greg audibly swallows and continues a little choked up, “I want to thank you, John. I’ve worried for years about this wanker because he deserved love just like everyone else and now, I can finally stop because he has you and I know you will take care of each other.” the D.I. raises his glass, “To Sherlock and John. I hope you have many long years of playful bickering, late night crime scenes, and years of protecting each other like you always do. Congratulations you two.”

 

Glasses are raised and cheers are heard throughout the room as the guest toast the newly weds. After the guests have calmed down, Sherlock stands, reaches inside his coat pocket, and pulls out cue cards. John looks quizzically at his threadmate but remains seated. Sherlock takes a deep breath and bares his heart to his threadmate: “All emotions — in particular, love — stand opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing morally compromised world, at least, that’s what I used to think. Today is the most important day that I’ve been through. Today I married the love of my life, my partner,” he looks straight at John, “my threadmate, and my friend.

 

“When I asked you to marry me, John, I was terrified that you would say no. As you all know, I am a rude, obnoxious, and an all around arse that you could ever have the misfortune of meeting. The point I’m trying to make is that I know I am hard to live with. I am dismissive of the virtuous and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn’t understand that this man could ever want someone like me, it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend, let alone anyone’s soulmate, and certainly not the threadmate of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing. John, I am a ridiculous man, redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship and love. But as I am apparently your best friend and your threadmate, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of a lifelong companion.

 

“I know how lucky I am. You, who are good and kind and honorable, chose me! Now that I have the prospect of the rest of our lives with you, John, I hope I can show you how much I love you and how much I am grateful for you.” He raises his glass to propose one final toast but this is where John stands and grabs his arm. Sherlock, finally turning to see his mate, quickly becomes panicked when he sees the tears in John’s eye. Sherlock frantically inquires, “Not good? I tried really hard to say the right things. Did I do it wrong? I’m so so—.” John silences his flustered soulmate with a deep kiss, “You’re an idiot. You are brilliant and wonderful. I am so happy that you are mine. I love you very much.”

 

A bright and happy smile spreads across Sherlock’s face as he leans forward and kisses his mate once more. The crowd erupts in cheers and when they separate, several attendants step forward and move the tables to the side to allow the wedding goers to dance. Sherlock takes John’s compact hand in his own and leads his sturdy blogger out onto the makeshift dance floor for their first dance as a married couple. The amateur detective draws his doctor close and then both men are swept off into a beautiful waltz around the room. Soon, other couples were stepping in time with the music. When the song ends, Sherlock and John share happy smiles and a brief kiss.

 

At one point during the night, the British government approaches John and Sherlock and hands the doctor a white envelope. When John opens it, he finds two airline tickets to Turin, Italy, an activity pamphlet, and two train tickets from Turin to Rome. John looks up, speechless, and Mycroft smiles, “My wedding gift to you. I hope you have a good time.” Sherlock’s eyes narrow in suspicion but Mycroft cuts any refusal short by saying, “You won’t owe me any favors. I have no scheme. Greg and I both agreed that this would be a good thing for the both of you. Enjoy it, brother mine.” Sherlock takes a look at his threadmate’s shocked, but pleased, expression and grudgingly concedes with Mycroft’s offer and mumbles out a quiet, “Thank you.” Mycroft smiles in return and leaves to find Gregory.

 

Much later, after many of the guests have gone, Sherlock and John return back to Backer Street to pack their belongings. Once everything was packed, the honeymooners boarded a plane to set off for Italy.

 

During the plane ride, John sat by the window, looking out at the vast horizon. Outside, the sun is setting. The sun casts oranges, yellows and bright light across the sky, and beside him, sat his gorgeous husband. Sherlock was dozing lightly after the taxing day. A permanent smile was stitched across his face all day since the moment John saw Sherlock earlier this morning and it was still there as he gazed at his beautiful threadmate. John leans across the seats to place a gentle kiss against the detective’s ebony curls. The blogger smiles as his snoozing soulmate only burrows instinctively closer to the elated doctor.

 

John suddenly realizes how perfect this scene is. The light of the setting sun highlights his sleeping husband’s face in a way that makes him look so peaceful. John’s right hand is currently clasped in the detective’s left, and ever so often; Sherlock’s grip would subconsciously tighten as if to make sure that John was still there. He is on his way to Turin, Italy to celebrate his marriage to this dazzling man. The blogger can’t help but smile at this ideal scene.

 

Before Sherlock, John’s life had been missing something. Everything was dull, life was grey, and nothing had true meaning. Then, suddenly, the unprepared ex-army doctor met this whirlwind of a detective who turned his life upside down. Everything was brighter, life was exciting, and he felt as if he could finally breathe. When the detective fell, John had no reason to live. Life was once again so meaningless, but after two long years of separation, Sherlock came back, and after time had past and anger spent, the all-encompassing sense of joy enveloped John along with the idea that he could finally be with his threadmate for forever.

 

When John was sent back home from the army, threadless and hopeless, he thought that life was over. He was depressed and if he hadn’t ran into Mike Stamford, he would have ended it all. Life with his eccentric detective is exciting and worthwhile. ‘No, my life is not over,’ he thinks with a smile and another kiss against the sleuth’s forehead, ‘my life has only just begun.’

 

The lanky detective wakes up with a soft groan as he stretches his long limbs and turns sleepy eyes on his beloved and he whispers out a warm, “Hello, John.” The blogger answers with his own whispered greeting against his husband’s lips as he places loving kisses on soft cupid bows. Sherlock withdraws and pulls out one of the pamphlets Mycroft had given them.

 

Sherlock turns excited eyes toward his bemused soulmate. The excited detective’s face lights up as he explains the tours they would be taking and of a crime that he had been keeping an eye on. As he finished his eager speech, he realizes that honeymoons are about relaxing and sex. While Sherlock smiles at the last thought (having decided he is quite ready to give himself fully to his husband) but fidgets anxiously as he comes to the conclusion that going to crime scenes would be far from relaxing.

 

John only smiles at his threadmate and gently takes a larger hand in his own to bring up their joined hands to place loving kisses against the amateur detective’s pale digits. The blogger looks at him evenly, smiles, and says, “Could be dangerous. Tell me about the scene.” The amateur detective takes a moment to thank a deity he doesn’t believe in that he has met and fallen in love with John Watson. The ebony haired genius takes a deep breath as he begins to rattle off the details of the crime scene.

 

The contented blogger settles back into his seat as the enthusiastic sleuth gestures and fires off details with rapid succession. John leans over and places a loving kiss against dark curls, ‘I’m so lucky to have this gorgeous man in my life.’ The red threads between them glow brilliantly as John thinks to himself, ‘And I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

                      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: And this concludes this story! Thank you to the ones who stuck with me to the end! You've been wonderful! I've got another story in the works. I wanna write a Disney/Sherlock crossover. I'm getting excited about it. I think I'm only going to post that one when I finish it, though. I'm a freshman in college now. It's going to be hard to find time to write, but I hope you will like it! Again, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> Also: my beta told me that I was too repetitive with their names, however, I was afraid I was being too repetitive with everything else... so, hopefully this is a little better?
> 
> Also, I've gotten a review that kinda bummed me out. Do you all still like this story? Are you guys still there?


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